Tb  2; 


OQVINA.  GAL* 


WlNA,  :: 


co 


Kogera 


HIGH  BRADFORD. 

JEANNE    D'ARC,    THE    MAID    OF    FRANCE. 
With  illustrations  in  color. 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


L.NIV,  <OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


HIGH  BRADFOKD 


& 


HIGH    BRADFORD 


BT 


MARY   ROGERS   BANGS 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS 


B 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON  MIPFLIN  COMPANY 
iDe  press  £ambrit>ge 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,   Igi2,    BY   MARY   ROGERS   BANGS 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  Apri 


UBLIO 
OOVJNA.  C 


TO 

C.  A.  D. 

LOVER  OF  OLD   SIMPLICITIES 


2125849 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


BRADFORD— High  Bradford,  the  fish- 
ing-villages beyond  slyly  named  it  — 
stood  at  ease  on  the  shores  of  a  bay  which 
the  long  arm  of  the  dunes  held  lovingly  as 
a  jewel  fit  for  the  adornment  of  a  fine  new 
world.  Behind  the  white  sands  were  meadows 
and  upland  moors  and  lakes  set  deep  among 
wooded  hills ;  and  at  the  back  of  all  this  serene 
beauty  the  sea  beat  ceaselessly,  tearing  and 
rending  the  fabric  of  the  shore  in  winter  storms, 
building  up  or  levelling  at  its  will  the  futile 
deprecating  barriers  of  sand.  From  sea  to 
(3) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


bay  the  winds  blew  back  and  forth,  gathering 
in  their  path  all  the  fragrance  of  the  land 
from  pine  and  bayberry  and  clover  meadow, 
from  wild  rose  and  honeysuckle,  from  thorough- 
wort  and  goldenrod  and  asters,  and  all  the  in- 
distinguishable sweets  which  the  yellow  bee 
finds.  North,  south,  east,  and  west  brought 
salt  and  more  salt :  for  nowhere  was  the  sea 
far  distant,  and  fog  was  as  likely  to  come  walk- 
ing in  over  the  fields  from  the  north  as  from 
the  south.  But  summer  and  winter,  in  foul 
weather  and  fair,  there  was  the  rush  of  the  tire- 
less wind.  On  gray  days,  luminous  as  pearls,  it 
brushed  through  the  woods  with  the  lightness 
of  multitudinous  wings ;  on  shining  mornings 
the  brisk  housewife  of  the  north  stepped  about 
rolling  back  the  mists,  and  in  winter,  snows 
easily  turned  to  rain  in  the  soft  moist  fingers 
of  the  moving  air. 

From  the  beginning  of  things,  hardy  seamen 
of  the  Old  World  may  have  dared  the  shift- 
ing dangers  of  the  shoals,  and  rested  awhile 
in  some  secure  inlet  before  they  cut  their  way 
back  through  the  grim  Atlantic.  But  Scrooby 
(4) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Pilgrims,  burning  with  love  of  freedom  as  they 
saw  it,  colonized  the  wooded  country  beyond 
the  dunes;  and  their  descendants,  true  to  the 
enterprise  of  their  birthright,  turned  back  to 
the  sea  for  their  fortune,  which,  even  in  the 
humble  day  of  its  beginning,  meant  to  them 
the  profit  of  a  man's  mind  as  well  as  his  body, 
and  their  decree  that  the  colony's  share  of  the 
fisheries  should  go  "  for  and  towards  a  free 
school  .  .  .  for  the  good  and  benefit  of  pos- 
terity" bore  the  just  fruit  of  such  planting. 
Then  all  adventurers,  whether  for  their  souls' 
good  or  their  pockets',  fared  forth  on  the  high- 
way of  the  sea.  English  Puritans,  who  had 
dared  their  great  adventure  for  God  and 
founded  the  commonwealth  of  a  new  world, 
followed  the  buccaneers  who  beat  out  fresh 
paths  for  the  old  peoples  in  the  "  spacious  time 
of  great  Elizabeth";  and  these,  in  turn,  gave 
place  to  the  men  who  were  to  write  a  new  chap- 
ter in  the  unending  romance  of  trade.  London- 
ers had  invented  their  "  United  Company  of 
Merchant  Venturers  of  England  Trading  to  the 
East  Indies,"  the  "Honorable  John  Company"; 
(5) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  their  splendid  frigates,  built  wide  in  beam 
for  precious  cargoes  and  equipped  to  deal  with 
any  enemy  who  dared  molest  them,  made  royal 
progresses  in  the  grand  old  manner,  only  to  be 
beaten  out  of  the  running  by  Yankee  captains, 
who  crowded  on  sail  every  hour  in  the  twenty- 
four  and  were  around  the  world  and  back  again 
before  the  great  East-Indiamen,  floating  along 
at  night  like  seafowl  asleep  on  the  waters, 
lumbered  into  port.  And  of  these  ships'  com- 
manders Bradford,  from  her  green  resting- 
place  beyond  the  dunes,  sent  forth  more 
than  any  town  so  small :  men  who  knew  not 
only  "  the  way  of  a  ship  in  the  midst  of  the 
sea,"  but  the  way  of  a  merchant  in  the  world's 
market.  They  "  ran  her  easting  down  "  beyond 
the  Cape,  where  the  brave  "  westerlies  "  were 
whip  and  spur,  as  easily  as  a  horseman  sweeps 
out  for  the  goal,  and  prizes  of  fortune  and 
fame  were  set  for  their  winning.  They  were 
eager  to  go  out,  and  as  eager  to  return ;  and 
the  austere  blood  of  their  fathers  was  enriched 
and  tempered  by  love  of  the  gentle  country 
of  home  and  the  long  slant  of  the  seas. 
(6) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


A  fit  type  of  such  men  was  Captain  Elkanah 
Clark,  whose  old  farm  stood  near  the  end  of  a 
lane  beyond  the  Bradford  stage  road.  General 
Clark,  some  called  him  :  for  in  the  forty  years 
since  he  had  used  the  sea,  he  had  drilled  mili- 
tia and  helped  make  clean  the  law  of  the  land ; 
and  whether  sailor  or  statesman  or  gentleman 
farmer,  he  had  cherished  his  small  estate  until 
it  bloomed  and  bore  fruit  beyond  any  other  in 
the  village;  and  ten  years  before  he  left  the 
sea,  he  had  torn  down  his  father's  low  house 
and  built  the  square  one  with  the  two  great 
chimneys,  and  not  a  sloping  ceiling  about  it 
except  in  the  garret  where  sea-chests  stood 
under  the  eaves. 

Elkanah  was  a  child  when  America  cut  her 
moorings  to  the  old  country ;  but  he  was 
old  enough  to  command  his  ship  and  to  read 
Johnny  Crapaud  a  chapter  in  Yankee  resolu- 
tion by  1793,  when  business  at  French  ports 
was  on  a  basis  of  go-as-you-please,  which  meant 
as  the  port  officer  pleased.  On  his  second  voy- 
age as  master,  Cap'n  Elkanah,  having  sold  a 
cargo  of  food-stuffs  at  Havre  for  the  gold 
(7) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


snugly  bestowed  in  his  money-belts,  was  asking 
for  his  papers. 

"All  in  good  time,  —  a  week,  a  month,  a 
month  or  so,  my  friend,"  responded  the  officer. 

"Sir?"  Cap'n  Elkanah,  a  brave  figure  in 
his  fine  new  clothes  of  the  latest  picturesque 
fashion,  looked  down  from  his  great  height 
with  blue  eyes  flashing  and  lean  jaw  firm 
set:  too  much  of  an  aristocrat  by  half  in 
the  sight  of  one  who  was  accustomed  to  re- 
cognize and  hate  the  evidence  of  gentle 
blood. 

"  In  your  turn,  my  good  fellow,  —  two 
months  at  the  latest,"  pronounced  Monsieur 
Importance,  who,  the  day  before  yesterday, 
had  been  selling  fish  on  the  pier. 

"That  is  the  extreme  of  injustice,"  said 
Elkanah  Clark.  "  I  '11  not  leave  this  office  until 
my  case  has  been  called." 

"Your  Yankee,  where  is  he?"  asked  a  de- 
puty officer  two  days  later. 

"  Parbleu !  it  was  discharge  him  or  bury 
him.  For  the  round  twenty-four  hours  did 
he  sit  at  that  door  without  food  or  sleep.  One 
(8) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


can  see  why  these  gamins  •whipped  England 
—  with  our  help." 

And  within  the  quarter-year,  Cap'n  El- 
kanah  was  back  with  more  flour  and  rice 
which  the  hungry  Frenchmen  must  buy  at  a 
gain  for  Yankee  pockets. 

He  plied  his  trade  in  every  port  where  trade 
was  good,  —  in  Holland  and  Germany,  and 
then  home  by  the  "  north-about "  through 
stormy  Orkneys  and  Hebrides ;  at  Kronstadt 
and  Archangel,  —  his  was  the  first  Yankee 
trading-flag  in  the  White  Sea;  and  there 
were  long  voyages  to  the  Far  East,  and  short 
dangerous  dashes  through  the  piratical  waters 
of  the  Spanish  Main.  Whatever  adventure  he 
spoke  became  his  friend,  for  he  bore  the  touch- 
stone of  success, — daring  tempered  by  judg- 
ment. As  the  years  passed,  the  leaping  flame 
of  his  youth  had  been  subdued  to  a  glow  of 
love  and  just  living ;  and  Rachel,  his  grand- 
daughter, when  she  looked  upon  his  reverend 
age,  always  bethought  her  of  a  passage  in  one 
of  her  school  prize-books,  for,  like  Philip  Syd- 
ney, he  was  of  a  "lovely  and  familiar  gravity. " 
(9) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Mary  Seabury,  the  slip  of  a  girl  who  had 
lived  in  the  little  old  house  beyond  the  darks' 
at  the  end  of  the  lane,  was  the  fit  mate  for 
such  a  man.  She  bore  his  children,  and  brought 
them  up  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  ;  she  managed 
and  saved,  and  when  Elkanah  was  absent  in 
the  years  after  her  father  died  and  the  little 
house  was  closed,  she  ran  the  two  farms  with 
the  help  of  Azubah,  who  came  to  her  when 
the  last  baby  was  born,  and  of  Felix  Connelly, 
who  looked  upon  the  estate  as  his  own.  Before 
she  died,  her  four  strong  sons  were  out  in  the 
world,  making  good  their  inheritance  of  right- 
eousness and  mercy;  and  in  the  old  square 
house,  Cap'n  Elkanah,  served  by  the  love  of 
his  widowed  daughter,  Caroline  Sears,  and  her 
daughter,  Kachel,  grew  into  years.  j 

With  the  sons  of  the  house  had  been  reared 
a  child  by  adoption,  who,  in  his  turn,  had 
"  gone  to  sea  "  and  commanded  his  ship,  and 
the  sea  had  swallowed  up  both  commander  and 
ship.  Out  of  mystery  he  had  come,  and  the 
unknown  claimed  his  going.  For  Bradford  his 
story  had  begun  with  that  second  voyage  of 
(10) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Cap'n  Elkanah's  during  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, when  at  Havre,  as  he  walked  down  to 
the  dock  on  the  eve  of  departure,  a  veiled 
woman  had  stopped  him. 

"  You  are  the  American  captain,  sailing  to- 
morrow?" Her  voice  had  the  authority  of  a 
compelling  need,  and,  with  the  words,  she 
placed  a  sleeping  child  in  his  arms,  which,  for 
very  surprise,  closed  about  the  soft  bundle. 
"  Take  him,"  she  begged.  "  He  is  a  good  child, 
gently  bred.  You  may  call  him  Rene  Rous- 
seau. His  father — "  Her  voice  fell  to  a  whis- 
per. "  These  wolves  have  him.  But  plans  are 
laid.  We  know  you  and  your  home.  We  shall 
follow,  never  fear.  But  do  you  take  the  child." 

Cap'n  Elkanah  brought  the  boy  home  to  his 
Mary,  but  no  fortune  or  kin  followed  from 
France.  He  might  be  called  Rene*  Rousseau : 
the  grim  Terror  cut  the  cord  at  that  knot.  And 
Rene  married  at  twenty,  and  was  "  lost  at  sea," 
and  his  daughter,  Zellaphine,  married  Bela 
Mayo,  and  their  daughter,  Polly,  was  best 
friends  with  Rachel  Sears,  who  lived  in  the 
old  house  on  the  lane. 


II 

POLLY  and  Rachel  were  the  leaders  of 
the  Bradford  little  folk,  and  Polly 
could  invent  more  games,  from  giants  and 
lion-traps  among  the  pines  to  Pilgrim  mothers 
and  galleons  on  the  beach,  than  even  Rachel's 
imagination  and  executive  hand  could  bring 
to  flower.  Maternal  disapproval  cut  off  many 
a  follower  in  their  train  ;  and  when  small 
Anne  Howes,  as  Undine,  nearly  lost  her  life 
in  Wehasset  Pond,  an  embargo  ended  one 
summer's  faring-forth  upon  the  sea  of  fancy. 
But  such  isolation  sealed  their  friendship  the 
(12) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


closer.  Polly  was  like  a  spaniel  starting  up 
the  game  and  scurrying  back  to  Rachel  to 
bear  her  out  in  the  adventure.  Once,  when 
they  were  very  little  girls,  she  had  coaxed 
Rachel  to  a  visit  upon  old  Peter  Gaunt,  the 
hermit  who  lived  in  a  house  near  the  woods 
and  was  known  to  drink  and  play  the  fiddle. 
When  he  drank,  the  boys  said  he  was  as  ugly 
as  a  pirate;  but  Polly  wanted  to  hear  the 
fiddle.  Hand  in  hand  the  two  scampered 
across  the  fields,  and  knocked  at  his  swing- 
ing door.  Old  Peter  answered  with  a  growl, 
which  turned  to  an  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment as  he  viewed  his  small  visitors.  Polly 
would  have  fled  the  apparition,  but  Rachel 
stood  her  ground. 

"  Please,  Mr.  Gaunt,  we  have  come  to  hear 
your  fiddle,"  piped  she,  in  a  thin  voice. 

"  Sounded  's  if  you  were  in  a  feather  bed," 
Polly  afterward  told  her. 

"Fiddle,  is  it?"  chuckled  Peter.  "Well, 
come  in,  and  good  welcome  to  ye." 

He  dusted  off  two  backless  chairs,  which 
the  children  mounted  and  sat  upon  with  their 
(13) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


toes  turned  out  stiffly  on  the  rounds,  their 
smooth  pigtails  strained  back  like  a  rabbit's 
apprehensive  ears,  their  hands  clasped  tight 
to  conceal  the  trembling  of  their  thin  bare 
arms.  Peter  went  into  an  inner  room  for  his 
fiddle. 

"  Shall  we  run  ?  "  whispered  Polly. 

"  No,  we  must  be  p'lite,"  sternly  admon- 
ished Rachel. 

Then  the  old  man  sat  down  before  them, 
and  played  "Money  Musk,"  and  "Invita- 
tion," and  "  Thou  great  and  sovereign  Lord 
of  all,"  until  the  children  forgot  their  fears, 
and  when  they  shook  hands  at  parting,  thanked 
him  eagerly  and  said  they  would  come  again. 

Yet,  though  feminine  servitors  might  be 
deflected  from  their  train,  two  more  or  less 
constant  adherents  the  girls  had  :  John  Dill- 
ingham,  who  was  always  father  to  Rachel's 
mother  when  the  play  was  backwoodsman's 
camp  in  the  pines  or  enchanted  castle  in  the 
lower  garden,  and  Scotto  Clark,  eldest  son 
eaten  by  the  wolves  or  the  robber  baron  who 

stole  fair  ladies  and  unearthed  gold.   Rachel 
(14) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


always  played  maternal  parts,  and  Polly  pre- 
ferred fairy  godmother  or  a  lovely  captive 
escaping  from  the  savages  as  offering  more 
scope  to  her  fancy. 

Scotto's  father  was  Cap'n  Elkanah's  young- 
est son,  a  merchant  and  shipowner,  and  the 
mother  had  died  when  Scotto  was  a  little  fel- 
low. When  school  was  done,  he  was  always 
glad  to  escape  from  the  gloomy  city  house, 
and  soon  it  became  the  established  order  for 
him  to  spend  all  vacations  at  his  grandfather's 
farm.  A  sensitive,  excitable,  affectionate  child, 
he  kept  every  one  on  the  run  between  the  poles 
of  exasperation  over  his  pranks  and  delight  in 
his  wit  and  warm-hearted  repentances  for  out- 
rageous misdemeanor.  The  small  neighbor, 
John,  although  younger  by  a  year,  was  Scot- 
to's  governor,  and  his  steady  hand  pulled  them 
out  of  many  a  scrape  where  they  had  justly 
earned  bread-and-water  punishment.  Their 
mutual  allegiance  never  weakened,  though  they 
were  not  averse  to  the  sport  of  "  teasing  the 
girls,"  or  even,  when  the  attention  of  other 
fellows  was  distracted  by  more  distant  affairs, 
(15) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


to  spending  happy  hours  of  play  with  them  in 
the  domain  of  Gran'ther  Clark,  which  was  as 
if  foreordained  for  such  enterprise. 

The  boys  had  built  a  secret  lair  near  We- 
hasset  Pond,  which  lay  just  off  the  field  path 
that  led  down  to  the  bay,  and  Polly  and  Ra- 
chel knew  no  dearer  wish  than  to  penetrate 
the  spot.  But  here  masculine  condescension 
drew  the  line  :  girls  should  know  their  place, 
and  particularly  should  they  learn  the  basic 
fact  that  a  man  must  have  his  reserves.  Nor, 
indeed,  was  any  one,  male  or  female,  made 
free  of  the  mystery :  John  and  Scotto  had  cut 
their  wrists  and  sworn  bloody  fealty  to  the 
secret  clan.  Here,  on  sunny  afternoons,  they 
lay  in  ambush  and  held  long  whispered  collo- 
quies as  to  surprising  the  foe,  or  ventured 
forth  to  fish  for  hornpout  cachalots,  or  skulked 
out  through  dense  forest  paths  to  tomahawk 
a  paleface.  Here,  too,  was  the  starting-point 
of  piratical  expeditions,  in  the  rakish,  low-lying 
craft  moored  in  the  Bight  of  Banjorum.  Once 
Scot  had  poled  out  too  far  in  the  Pirate  Bride, 
which  looked  remarkably  like  an  old  door,  and 
(16) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


had  to  sit  there  like  a  frog  on  a  lily-pad  until 
•wind  and  current  slowly  propelled  him  to  the 
opposite  coast.  Then,  the  next  day  being  rainy 
and  girls  safely  housed,  John  organized  a  re- 
lief expedition,  the  Bride  was  retaken,  manoeu- 
vred under  the  lee  of  a  hostile  shore,  hauled 
up  in  the  Bight  and  refitted  with  cutlasses  and 
guns,  when  she  hoisted  the  black  flag  and  sal- 
lied forth  to  capture  three  galleons  loaded  with 
bullion. 

This  was  all  when  little  boys  wore  rounda- 
bouts and  loose  trousers  to  the  ankle,  and 
little  girls  had  black  silk  aprons  and  panta- 
lettes and  cavernous  bonnets  like  their  mothers'. 
And  in  due  time  John  grew  to  his  six-feet- 
two  and  was  off  on  his  first  voyage  as  master 
of  a  ship,  and  Scotto  was  a  very  fine  gentle- 
man who  ruled  the  town  —  kitchen  and  hall 
—  during  flying  visits  in  the  intervals  of  sea- 
going and  business  ventures  undertaken  in  one 
corner  or  another  of  the  world  on  the  pretext 
of  enlarging  his  father's  trade.  And  Polly 
and  Rachel  were  young  ladies,  with  softly  flow- 
ing skirts  which  had  not  yet  billowed  out  into 
(17) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


crinoline ;  and  though  bonnets  might  be  large, 
the  arch  was  filled  with  flowery  wreaths  which 
nestled  sweetly  against  a  young  face. 

On  a  spring  morning,  when  clouds  were 
floating  lazily  in  the  pale  sky  as  if  they 
dreamed  of  hot  August  days,  the  two  girls  were 
driving  home  through  a  "blind"  road  over- 
grown with  scrub  oak  and  pine.  The  wagon 
was  heaped  with  sprays  of  the  trailing  ar- 
butus—  Mayflower,  they  called  it  —  which 
they  had  been  unearthing  from  crisp  coverts 
among  last  year's  leaves.  Their  leghorn  bon- 
nets crowned  the  fragrant  cargo,  and  Polly's 
dark  curls  were  bobbing  all  the  wrong  way, 
which,  nevertheless,  seemed  wholly  right  as 
they  framed  her  small  face  the  more  archly. 
Even  Rachel's  braids  were  ruffled  by  dodging 
low  branches  that  drooped  over  the  wood- 
bound  road. 

"I  don't  care  if  he  is  your  cousin.  I  give 
him  away.  I  give  him  to  the  goose  who  will 
take  him,"  blustered  Polly,  as  she  struggled 
to  pin  up  a  rent  in  her  sleeve  before  they 
should  emerge  on  the  highway. 
(18) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  I  will  take  him,"  said  Rachel.  She  flicked 
the  horse  into  a  trot;  they  were  skirting  a 
little  blue  pond  set  deep  in  wooded  banks. 

"  You !  "  Polly  nearly  swallowed  a  pin  as 
she  turned  blank  eyes  of  astonishment  upon 
the  quiet  girl  beside  her. 

Rachel  was  looking  straight  between  the 
horse's  ears. 

"He  has  said  that  he  loves  me,  and  I  — 
love  him."  She  turned  now  and  looked  the 
confused  Polly  in  her  troubled  eyes. 

"  But  —  but  he  has  flirted.  He  has  flirted 
with  me,  and  —  oh,  dear  !  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  flirted." 

"  But  Scotto  Clark  is  like  water.  He  will 
run  through  your  fingers,  and  be  off  to  the 
next  township,  to  the  next  world  for  aught  I 
know,  before  you  can  say — " 

"  Dear  Polly,  I  know  Scotto  Clark." 

"  And  he  is  your  own  cousin.  Your  own 
mother's  brother's  child.  He  is  like  a  brother." 

"  Not  quite  a  brother." 

There  was  silence  between  the  girls,  and 
old  Major  picked  his  way  across  a  shaky  cul- 
(19) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


vert  which  was  frequently  submerged  in  win- 
ter. On  either  hand  now  were  the  ponds,  one 
a  basin  where  summer  lilies  would  be  rocking, 
and  the  other  a  miniature  sea,  illimitable  be- 
cause it  turned  sharply  around  a  wooded  head- 
land, and  foam-tipped  waves  broke  on  the 
pebbly  beach  cut  by  their  wheel.  Polly,  like  a 
cockleshell  sailor  caught  in  a  current  stronger 
than  any  previous  excursion  could  have  led 
him  to  expect,  whiffled  short  around  on  an 
opposite  tack. 

"  Rachel,  I  believe,  I  do  believe  that  you 
are  made  for  each  other.  You  are  so  steady 
—  and  perhaps  all  boys  veer  a  little.  You  '11 
make  a  man  of  Scot.  His  heart 's  as  big  as 
the  bay.  Think  how  he  sat  up  night  after 
night  with  Beriah  Pratt ;  and  he  's  in  and  out 
of  every  house,  rich  and  poor,  the  first  day 
he  's  in  town  ;  and  how  quick  he  is  !  I  '11  never 
forget  how  he  pulled  Cap'n  Dillingham's  Di 
Vernon  out  of  the  ditch  when  she  'd  pretty 
nearly  kicked  her  way  out  of  sight.  Any  other 
man  would  have  let  the  black  mud  get  her." 
Rachel  was  looking  about  for  the  cart  track 
(20) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


that  diverged  through  gray  mossy  fields  and 
Polly  gathered  eloquence  with  the  impetus 
of  her  own  momentum.  "Ray,  he's  your 
man,"  she  announced,  as  one  who  descries 
the  beacon  through  dissolving  mists.  "And  I 
shall  give  you  the  best  pair  of  undersleeves 
I  can  begin  this  very  afternoon,  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  April,  eighteen  hundred  and  —  " 

"  There,  Polly.  There  '11  be  time  enough. 
Scot  's  going  over  to  Hamburg,  you  know,  for 
Uncle  Crete,  and  won't  be  back  until  next  fall. 
And  I  have  n't  given  him  his  answer  yet." 
"  So  you  gave  it  to  me,  Miss  Rachel ! " 
They  had  drawn  up  before  the  low  white 
house  where  Polly  and  her  mother  lived,  — 
"  Aunt  Zellaphine's,"  every  one  called  it :  for 
Bela  Mayo  was  away  so  much  on  his  long 
trading-voyages  they  almost  forgot  there 
was  a  master,  —  and  Polly  was  dividing  their 
Maying  with  a  deft  impartial  hand.  She 
heaped  the  half  in  her  bonnet,  which,  with 
the  absorption  in  trifles  that  enhanced  her 
charm,  she  succeeded  in  whirling  aloft  at 
arm's  length  by  the  strings  without  losing  a 
(21) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


petal.  Rachel  never  could  learn  that  trick  with 
her  basket  when  the  children  went  for  swamp 
huckleberries,  but  Polly  had  it  to  perfection. 
"I  won't  tell,"  she  cried,  as  she  disappeared 
behind  the  lilacs  that  sheltered  "  Aunt  Zella- 
phine's  "  from  the  road.  "  Good  luck." 


Ill 

ABLOSSOMY  path  across  the  fields  and 
through  a  meadow  where  the  brook 
was  spanned  by  weatherbeaten  logs  made  a 
short  cut  from  the  Clark  farm  to  an  old  house 
that  was  built  by  one  of  the  earliest  settlers  of 
Bradford.  The  house  was  on  a  knoll,  terraced 
up  from  the  meadows  by  orchard  and  kitchen 
garden,  trim  flowerbeds  and  lawns ;  and  if  you 
chose  to  go  home  by  the  white  winding  road 
—  a  dusty  walk  in  summer  —  overshadowing 
elms  and  great  silver  poplars  made  the  way  beau- 
tiful. On  an  evening  in  April,  the  easier  path 
(23) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


was  by  the  longer  road,  and  at  five  o'clock, 
precisely,  Cap'n  Elkanah  and  his  daughter, 
Mrs.  Sears,  were  taking  it.  For  Cap'n  and 
Mrs.  Edward  Dillingham  were  giving  a  high 
tea  to  the  other  captains  and  their  wives  who 
had  made  the  port  of  home,  and  from  such 
a  company  General  Clark  was  never  absent. 
Especially  would  he  have  been  missed  from 
any  festivity  at  the  Dillingham  house,  for  be- 
tween him  and  Madam  Desire  was  a  friendship 
tried  in  the  frost  and  sun  of  eighty  years. 
They  had  learned  their  letters  together  in  the 
dame  school  taught  by  Miss  Peda  Dillingham 
in  an  upper  room  of  this  same  old  house,  where 
the  eaves  sloped  to  mysterious  cupboards  ter- 
rible to  naughty  children  ;  and  before  Desire 
Winslow  returned  there  as  the  bride  of  young 
Kenelm  Dillingham  and  Elkanah  had  married 
Mary  Seabury,  there  may  have  been  the  first 
blush  of  a  shy  courtship  between  them.  But 
the  two  brides  were  fast  friends,  and  as  the 
years  went  on  the  path  across  the  fields  was 
worn  by  their  feet  and  their  children's  and 
their  children's  children's;  and  after  Kenelm 
(24) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  Mary  died,  there  was  the  same  old  friend- 
ship between  Elkanah  and  Desire,  a  friendship 
sweet  with  the  memory  of  past  joy  and  sorrow, 
and  shining  with  such  devotion  and  grace  as 
should  challenge  the  chivalry  of  youth  to  grow 
into  like  maturity. 

The  children  of  Madam  Desire  were  widely 
scattered  even  for  a  Bradford  family :  all  the 
boys,  by  nature,  had  taken  to  the  sea,  and  one 
had  become  a  merchant  in  Australia  and  a 
daughter  was  married  to  his  English  partner, 
another  was  in  Penang;  and  another  still  was 
a  pioneer  in  Oregon,  where  he  was  working  a 
profitable  saw  and  grist  mill  in  that  rich  and 
thinly  populated  territory.  Cap'n  Edward,  the 
youngest  son,  lived  in  the  old  house,  and  his 
wife,  Mercy,  was  a  faithful  and  affectionate 
daughter  to  her  husband's  mother. 

After  their  marriage,  she  had  gone  several 
voyages  with  Cap'n  Edward,  and,  having  a 
turn  for  mathematics,  had  whiled  away  some 
long  hours  by  studying  navigation,  with  her 
young  husband  as  schoolmaster.  One  wintry 
season  in  the  twenties,  they  were  bound  home 
(25) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


from  California,  -where  they  had  packed  a 
cargo  of  hides  and  had  replaced  their  mate, 
who  had  taken  another  vessel,  with  a  man  they 
picked  up  at  the  little  port  of  San  Diego.  They 
had  run  well  down  to  the  southward  when 
Cap'n  Edward  fell  ill  of  brain  fever,  but  not 
before  he  had  put  his  mate  in  irons :  for  the 
Cap'n  ruled  his  men  like  a  father,  and  the 
newcomer,  whose  oaths,  like  those  of  the  buc- 
caneer in  the  chronicle,  were  proof  enough  that 
"he  had  heard  of  God,"  had  mistaken  that 
clemency  for  meekness.  Winter  was  shutting 
down  as  they  neared  the  Horn,  and  Mercy 
Dillingham  and  the  mate  were  the  only  ones 
aboard  who  knew  the  science  of  navigation. 
He  begged  to  be  released. 

"No,"  said  she.  "The  Cap'n  put  you  in 
irons  for  good  cause,  and  in  irons  you  shall 
stay  till  we  make  New  York." 

And  in  irons  he  did  stay ;  and  Mercy  nursed 
her  delirious  husband,  and  brought  him  and 
the  ship  safe  home.  But  never  did  navigator 
rejoice  more  to  see  the  "Magellan  clouds"  sink 
below  the  horizon,  or  to  make  the  North  Star, 
(26) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"first  land  beyond  the  Horn  " ;  and  they  never 
again  set  sail,  for  Edward  was  broken  by  his 
illness,  and  she,  who  had  dared  once  too  often 
the  malignant  seas  of  the  Far  South,  could 
not  bear  even  the  gentle  adventure  of  a  voy- 
age to  the  city  by  "  packet." 

The  next  year  her  son  was  born,  and  in  due 
time  went  the  way  of  his  forebears ;  and  his 
mother,  when  a  howling  nor'easter  piled  the 
snows  high,  kept  her  vigil  until  the  gray  dawn 
for  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea.  And  Cap'n 
Edward,  farmer  that  he  was,  who  should  tread 
no  planks  more  unsteady  than  the  meadow 
bridge,  was  famous  for  his  salt-water  maxims, 
and  used  a  landsman's  lingo  only  when  a  sea 
term  failed.  John,  the  pirate  of  Banjorum 
Bight,  was  their  son,  and  as  he  was  due  from 
a  year's  voyage  to  Australia  and  Calcutta,  this 
tea-party  was  designed  to  clear  the  decks  for 
younger  happenings. 

The  table  was  set  in  the  east  room.   Their 

everyday  meal  was  eaten  in  the  great  middle 

room   where  the   brick  oven   was :   for  the 

Dillinghams   had   never  turned   that   into  a 

(27) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


supernumerary  parlor,  after  the  more  modern 
fashion,  to  build  living-room  and  summer  and 
winter  kitchens  in  succeeding  lean-tos  and  sheds. 
Desire  and  Mercy  agreed  in  their  pleasure  of 
using  the  long  room,  flanking  the  east  and 
west  parlors,  to  cook  and  eat  in:  on  winter 
nights  it  was  the  warmest  corner  in  the  solid 
old  house,  and  in  summer  it  was  cool  with 
the  sweet  air  drawing  through  from  the  gar- 
dens. Desire's  bedroom  led  off  from  the  corner 
where  the  back  stairs  made  a  precipitous 
flight  to  the  floor  above,  and  by  another  door 
she  could  step  into  the  west  room,  sacred  to 
foreign  relics  and  haircloth  furniture  in  most 
Bradford  houses,  but  in  daily  use  by  these 
comfortable  Dillinghams.  Across  the  hall, 
where  the  builder  had  raised  leisurely  English 
stairs,  with  a  landing  for  the  tall  clock  that 
had  survived  the  buffeting  of  a  winter  Atlan- 
tic, Mercy  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  her  bountiful  table,  whose  fine  old  silver 
had  graced  many  a  gathering  of  the  brethren 
in  a  manor  house  across  the  sea. 

Mercy  Dillingham  was  no  such  progressive 
(28) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


woman  as  her  youthful  exploit  might  have 
indicated,  but  a  gentle  creature  save  when 
circumstance  challenged  the  Old  England  in 
her  fibre.  Famous  even  among  Bradford  cooks, 
that  reputation  was  her  pride  ;  and  there  was 
no  surer  road  to  her  discomfiture  than  allusion 
to  her  enforced  captaincy  of  the  Silver  Tri- 
dent. When  some  city  cousins,  who  had  taken 
up  the  new  fad  of  "  woman's  rights,"  asked 
her  to  speak  to  their  Social  Circle,  she  replied 
that  the  privilege  of  cooking  Edward  Dilling- 
ham's  three  meals  a  day  was  right  enough  for 
her ;  and  certainly  she  was  a  picture  of  serene 
domesticity  as  she  began  to  brew  the  tea  — 
tea  of  a  royal  blend  sent  to  Madam  Desire  by 
a  son  in  the  China  trade  —  when  a  subdued 
hum  from  the  west  room  indicated  that  the 
guests  were  assembling.  Her  white  hair,  which 
had  begun  to  turn  in  those  long  watches  when 
she  had  fought  her  way  around  the  Horn,  was 
banded  smoothly  about  her  face  and  folded 
back  under  a  matronly  cap.  The  rich  folds  of 
her  black  satin,  given  her  by  Edward  on  their 
first  voyage  to  France,  fell  from  her  trig  waist ; 
(29) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


an  embroidered  muslin  tucker  and  undersleeves 
were  fastened  close  about  her  shapely  throat 
and  wrists. 

Cap'n  James  Howes  and  his  wife  Rosilla, 
who  had  just "  arrived  "  from  the  East,  were  the 
guests  of  honor ;  and  as  the  company  gathered 
about  the  table,  every  one  was  eager  to  hear 
their  news  of  cities  on  the  other  side  of  the 
world  and  of  friends  they  had  spoken  in  pass- 
ing. For  then  a  man  was  more  likely  to  hail 
his  neighbor  on  the  route  down  by  Rio  and 
across  to  the  Cape  than  on  the  main  street  at 
home,  and  a  good  voyage  to  Calcutta  was  no 
more  of  an  expedition  than  the  wood-drive 
around  the  ponds  to  the  westward.  The  sea's 
road  was  more  familiar  than  the  by-ways  of 
the  land  when  it  was  easier  to  sail  up  and 
down  the  coast  than  to  trust  the  uncertain  pro- 
gress of  stage  and  steam;  and  "round  the 
Horn  "  was  a  safer  road  to  the  Eldorados  of 
the  Pacific  than  an  overland  route  by  prai- 
rie schooner.  Boston,  New  York,  Baltimore, 
"  New-Orleens "  were  but  famous  posting- 
houses  on  a  great  highway,  with  Alicante  or 
(30)  ' 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Hong  Kong  a  turn  or  two  to  the  left;  and 
Bradford,  on  its  little  bay,  was  off  the  beaten 
track  like  an  inn  across  the  fields,  yet,  as  if 
from  the  edge  of  the  world,  might  overlook 
its  strong  men  weaving  the  great  shuttle  of 
peaceful  exchange  through  the  warp  of  the 
seas. 

Cap'n  Howes,  whose  "owners"  knew  he 
could  be  trusted  to  pick  up  gold  on  any  shore, 
had  been  off  on  a  free  roving  commission  to 
Europe  and  the  East.  He  had  made  for  Ger- 
many, traded  back  and  forth  between  Aus- 
tralia and  Ceylon  before  taking  a  cargo  for 
home,  and  then  had  stopped  in  the  Bight  of 
Biafra  for  a  bit  of  gold-dust  and  ivory. 

"  How  about  rum  for  Ireland  this  voyage, 
James  ?  "  asked  Edward  Dilh'ngham. 

"  Dropped  a  few  casks  overboard  as  I  ran  down 
by.  Those  Irishmen  can  beat  the  coastguards 
any  day,  and  they  don't  get  salt  in  their  grog, 
either.  But  I  come  down  with  African  fever 
at  Prince's  Island,  Mercy,  and  wished  I  'd  had 
you  to  sail  me  home." 

"There,  there,  mother,  don't  blush,"  said 
(31) 


HIGH   BRADFORD 


Edward.  "  And  here 's  Beriah  navigating  for 
a  good  landfall  on  that  'lection  cake.  He  don't 
need  any  Maury  chart  to  make  port  on  the 
sweets." 

"  Mercy  herself  is  the  port  for  all  our  sailor 
hearts,"  said  Cap'n  Elkanah. 

And  as  the  talk  swept  away  again  to  the 
records  of  new  clipper  ships  and  port  rules  at 
Calcutta,  he  turned  back  to  his  chat  of  old 
days  with  Grandmother  Dillingham. 

When  the  guests  had  withdrawn  to  the  west 
room,  and  Mercy  was  helping  the  little  Irish 
maid,  to  whom  she  was  teaching  the  precise 
ways  of  an  inherited  housewifery,  to  "  clear 
away,"  there  was  a  mighty  knocking  at  the 
back  door,  and  Scotto  Clark,  with  Rachel  de- 
murely following,  came  flying  in. 

"  Now  then,  Aunt  Mercy,  give  me  a  hand 
at  that  dish-towel,  for  I  'm  off  to-morrow  for 
the  end  of  nowhere,  and  Heaven  knows  when 
I'll  be  seeing  gilt  china  again." 

Rachel  nodded  smilingly  to  Mercy,  and  went 
on  into  the  front  room,  while  Scotto  snatched 
a  towel  from  the  passive  Molly  Connelly,  who 
(32) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


stood  agape  at  so  much  masculine  splendor, 
and  set  to  work. 

"But,  Scotto,  I  thought  you  were  not  going 
to  Hamburg  for  a  month,"  said  Mercy,  as  she 
tied  on  an  apron  and  began  to  manipulate  the 
dishes  in  their  steaming  suds. 

"  A  letter  just  in  from  father  says  I  leave 
this  day  week,  and  I've  got  to  pick  up  my  dun- 
nage and  get  orders.  Heigho,  Aunt  Mercy ! " 
He  gave  a  perilous  flourish  with  a  latticed  cake- 
tray,  which  she  watched  with  apprehension. 
"  I  'm  off  for  the '  Bay  of  Biscay-0,'  'and  my  name 
was  Robert  Kidd  when  I  sailed,  when  I  sailed.' " 
With  the  chant  he  whirled  about  the  table  and 
drank  an  imaginary  health  from  a  compote- 
dish  which  had  been  standing  decorously  on 
the  top  shelf  of  the  dresser.  "And  I'll  make 
my  f ortune-0,  and  here 's  to 

'  The  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits  up  aloft 
To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack.'  " 

"  What  ails  you,  Scot  ?  You  're  as  wild  as  a 
cat  in  a  thunderstorm." 

"  What 's  the  odds  so  long  as  you  're  happy  ?  " 
sang  Scotto,  with  a  final  whirl,  as  he  came  to 
(33) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


anchor  at  her  side.    "  Aunt  Mercy,  this  is  a 
great  day.   Rachel  has  said  yes." 

"Rachel?" 

"  Yes,  my  little  Cousin  Ray."  Molly  had  gone 
into  the  outer  kitchen  to  wash  pans,  and  he 
spoke  in  a  low,  moved  tone.  "  Oh,  I  know  I  'm 
not  fit  to  touch  the  hem  of  that  shiny  dress  of 
hers.  She 's  like  a  piece  of  your  gilt-and-white. 
She'd  break  with  rough  handling.  But  you'll 
see.  I'll  deserve  her  yet." 

"No,  she  won't  break.  But  be  careful.  A  man 
would  have  to  work  hard  to  deserve  Rachel." 

"  I  know,  —  nobody  better.  I  Ve  loved  her, 
Aunt  Mercy,  ever  since  we  kids  used  to  play 
house  and  I  was  always  the  bad  un.  But  I'll 
be  good  now,  you  '11  see.  And  she 's  the  only 
girl  in  the  world,  the  only  one." 

The  boy  believed  what  he  said ;  other  girls 
were  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

Mercy  Dillingham  gave  a  quick  little  sigh 
that  might  have  held  a  moth  wing  of  regret, 
and  smiled  rather  sadly  as  she  followed  a  sub- 
dued and  manly  Scotto  across  the  hall  into  the 
west  room. 

(34) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Rachel  had  whispered  to  her  mother  that 
he  must  be  going  next  day ;  and  when  the 
young  man  came  in,  he  went  to  his  grand- 
father, who  was  just  turning  away  from  pay- 
ing some  old-fashioned  compliment  to  Rosilla 
Howes,  and  told  him  of  his  departure. 

"  And  give  me  your  blessing,  sir,"  he  added 
in  a  low  tone.  "  Rachel  says  she  '11  marry  me 
some  day." 

The  old  man  started ;  but  the  discipline  of 
his  good-breeding  checked  whatever  emotion 
he  may  have  felt. 

"Later,  my  boy,  later,"  was  all  he  said. 
"  Time  enough  for  all  that." 

Scotto's  seriousness  was  soon  gone.  A  keen 
sense  of  the  incongruous  burlesqued  the  world 
he  saw;  and  he  never  looked  upon  decorous 
age  that  he  was  not  seized  with  an  impish  de- 
sire to  send  it  topsy-turvy  back  to  youth. 

"  Gran'ther,"  he  had  said  suddenly  one  sum- 
mer, when  their  relative  stature  was  as  a  mul- 
lein to  an  oak,  "why  don't  you  roll  hoop?" 

"  For  no  reason  under  the  sun,  my  boy,  ex- 
cept that  my  old  legs  are  too  stiff  to  follow  it." 
(35) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"Would  you  like  to?" 

"  Nothing  better." 

Whereupon  Master  Scotto  had  his  first  ink- 
ling that  grown-ups  not  infrequently  are  sick 
for  play.  He  was  a  pet  of  his  elders.  "  Never 
was  such  a  '  trainer,' "  said  they.  And  because 
he  "  trained "  with  them,  to  the  ignoring  of 
surface  distinctions,  they  drank  of  the  cup  of 
his  youth,  and  were  young  again.  To-night  the 
joy  at  his  heart  came  bubbling  over,  and  his 
magnetic  high  spirits  soon  broke  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  high  tea  into  clamorous  little 
waves  of  fun.  With  a  joke  and  a  story  for 
some  quiet-voiced  woman  or  a  bluff  old  cap- 
tain, he  set  them  all  going  to  the  top  of  their 
bent ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  roil,  he  turned 
to  Cap'n  Beriah  Pratt,  who  was  known  to 
have  an  agile  toe  when  he  chose  to  exercise  it. 

"Now,  Cap'n,  now  for  a  high-go,"  cried 
Scot.  "  Let 's  see  you  pat  Juba.  Come,  come, 
hit  it  up,  Beriah,  hit  it  up." 

Cap'n  Pratt,  who  was  a  fat,  florid  little 
man,  jumped  up  and  made  a  low  bow  to  the  ap- 
plauding company,  and,  starting  off  on  a  heavy 
(36) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


double-shuffle,  beat  his  thighs  and  clapped 
his  hands  to  the  strenuous  rhythm  his  feet 
were  marking.  Scotto  clapped  in  sympathy 
until  his  hands  smarted,  and  his  throat  ached 
with  contending  laughter  and  comment  de- 
signed to  egg  on  Cap'n  Pratt.  Higher  and 
higher  the  little  man  bounded ;  like  castanets 
heel  and  toe  beat  out  the  silent  tune.  The  cap- 
tains, who  had  all  had  turns  at  such  "  fandan- 
goes" when  they  were  in  the  fo'c's'le,  were 
hoarse  with  encouraging  shouts. 

"  Higher,  there,  higher,"  cried  Cap'n  'Bial 
Harding,  whose  solemnity  was  a  matter  more 
of  Roman  nose  and  an  agonizing  black  satin 
stock  than  of  nature.  "There  you  hit  it  up 
to  time,"  he  chanted,  and  sprang  to  his  feet 
to  fall  in  with  Scot's  clapping,  and  thumped 
his  ponderous  bluchers  up  and  down  to  the 
rhythm.  The  duration  of  such  a  dance  was 
measured  by  the  wind  of  the  performers,  but 
finally  all  three  came  to  the  end  of  their 
breath  ;  and  with  a  final  half-turn  and  swoop 
that  fetched  his  elbows  up  like  a  sprinter's 
and  blew  his  coat  tails  straight  out,  Cap'n 
(37) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Beriah  sank  into  his  chair  amid  cheers  and 
feminine  squeaks  of  admiration. 

Then  there  were  tales  of  old  days  before 
the  mast,  and  the  women  chimed  in  with 
reminiscences  of  the  nights  they  had  danced 
through  in  the  assembly  hall  before  it  was 
metamorphosed  into  a  chapel.  But  it  did  not 
take  Scot  long  to  recover  sufficient  breath  to 
blow  the  flame  of  gayety  again.  He  had  spied 
on  the  lower  shelf  of  a  what-not  a  fine  old 
accordion,  such  as  most  sailormen  in  those 
days  knew  how  to  play.  In  a  moment  he  was 
up  and  drawing  such  merry  jigs  from  it  as  set 
toes  tingling  to  be  off  to  the  familiar  tunes. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  choose  your  partners," 
he  chanted  to  the  lilt  of  an  old  contra-dance. 
"  Cap'n  Beriah,  you  take  Mehitable.  Joshu-a, 
don't  you  see  Bethiah  ?  Clanrick,  Clanrick,  bal- 
ance Rhoda.  Off  you  go,  and  back  again." 

He  was  a  very  splendid  person  as  he  stood 
there  against  a  background  of  landscape  paper 
dim  as  old  tapestries.  His  foppish  dress  lent 
picturesqueness  to  the  tall  swaying  figure : 
pale  gray  trousers  were  strapped  down  over 
(38) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  polished  slippers  —  "never  permit  the 
sanctity  of  the  drawing-room  to  be  violated 
by  a  boot,"  read  his  "  Etiquette  for  Gentle- 
men "  ;  the  blue  coat  was  tightly  girded  to 
his  slender  waist,  the  rolling  collar  disclos- 
ing glories  of  flowered  waistcoat,  fine  tucked 
shirt,  and  jewelled  pin.  In  repose  his  face 
might  lack  strength,  whatever  cheating  dig- 
nity the  portentous  stock  should  give;  but 
with  dark  curly  head  flung  back,  brown  eyes 
flashing  and  white  teeth  gleaming  with  the  fun, 
the  deeply  cleft  chin  and  full  lips  and  his  lithe 
grace  only  accentuated  the  beauty  of  his  youth. 

Kachel,  as  she  watched  him  from  her  cor- 
ner, felt  her  heart  wrung  as  a  mother's  might 
have  been  with  her  darling's  short  perfect 
joy.  "  God  help  me  to  keep  him  glad,"  she 
thought  over  and  over  again.  "  God  give  me 
strength,"  she  prayed.  "  He  is  a  good  child, 
a  good,  good  child.  I  must  always  be  sure  of 
that." 

His  "dove  of  peace"  he  had  once  called 
her ;  and  her  heart  was  indeed  like  a  brood- 
ing dove's,  not  free  from  the  apprehension  of 
(39) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


mischance,  but  gathering  all  into  the  protect- 
ing circle  of  her  love.  And  she,  too,  bloomed 
in  all  the  loveliness  of  youth,  as  the  light 
from  the  old  sconces  above  her  brought  out 
rich  tints  in  the  hair  which  was  only  mouse- 
colored  in  shadow,  with  her  gray  draperies 
sweeping  around  her,  and  the  foam  of  exquis- 
ite embroideries  disclosing  her  white  throat 
and  wrists.  Yet  the  curved  mouth  was  shut 
tight  with  her  resolution  to  be  strong  —  for 
two,  if  need  were  —  and  her  hazel  eyes  were 
dark  with  emotion. 

She  turned  quickly  to  the  hall  at  a  knock 
which  was  drowned  for  the  others  in  the  hub- 
bub of  their  own  making ;  and  as  the  outer 
door  opened,  she  stepped  out  as  if  to  welcome 
the  tall,  blue-eyed  man  who  was  crossing  the 
threshold.  Afterward  she  remembered  the  silver 
radiance  of  the  stars  framed  in  the  doorway. 

"Rachel,"  he  cried.  "Rachel,  don't  you 
know  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  John  Dillingham,"  she  said  slowly. 
"You  have  come." 

"  Yes,  Ray."  He  took  her  hands.  "  Where 's 
(40) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


mother  ? "  he  asked,  as  he  looked  past  her 
into  the  lighted  room.  "  What 's  all  this  sky- 
larking?" 

"A  tea—" 

But  his  mother  was  in  his  arms,  and  Cap'n 
Edward  looked  his  greeting  over  her  shoul- 
der. The  dancers  stopped  on  the  moment,  Scot 
with  the  accordion  half  drawn,  Cap'n  Beriah 
with  coat  tails  spread  to  a  bow,  Mehitable 
Foster  half  sunk  in  a  languishing  curtsey, 
Cap'n  Elkanah  and  Madame  Desire  with 
clasped  hands,  as  they  had  advanced  between 
the  opposing  lines.  Then  the  spell  was  broken 
as  if  at  the  touch  of  the  conquering  prince. 

"  It 's  John,"  they  cried.  "  Welcome  home, 
welcome  home,  boy." 

"How  are  you,  John?"  said  Scotto  when 
they  met,  —  two  men  who  looked  fit  for  the 
winning  of  Ultima  Thule.  "  You  're  home  as 
I  'm  off." 

"  Good-bye,  everybody,"  he  called  a  moment 
later,  as  he  drew  Rachel  through  an  opposite 
door.  "  Good-bye,  old  fellow.  Good-bye,  again. 
I  start  for  the  city  first  tide." 


IV 

MRS.  ZELLAPHINE  MAYO  was  a 
fit  exponent  of  the  result  to  be  looked 
for  in  a  mixture  of  French  and  Puritan  blood, 
and  the  one  element  drove  her  on  to  rash  deeds 
of  chivalry,  whose  fruition  was  blasted  by  the 
chill  of  her  critic  mind.  She  helped  with  one 
hand  and  injured  with  the  other;  and  a  sharp 
tongue  defeated  the  impulse  of  her  ministering 
heart.  She  was  the  most  loved  and  hated  wo- 
man in  Bradford,  and  not  infrequently  did  she 
cause  her  neighbors  to  achieve  the  emotion 
of  synchronous  hate  and  love.  For  no  one 
(42) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


could  forget  her  instant  kindness  in  grief  or 
disaster,  yet  must  they  have  an  eye  to  the  dis- 
torted report  of  such  service  which  her  sick 
nerves,  broken  by  the  strain,  were  sure  to  set 
in  motion.  In  illness,  especially,  she  was  an 
angel  of  mercy  ;  but  for  months  afterward  sly 
rumors  would  creep  back  to  the  afflicted  family, 
— hints  of  slovenly  or  mean  living,  allusions 
to  depths  not  as  fair  as  the  exterior  of  that 
particular  household.  She  had  a  fine  histrionic 
gift  of  indicating  destruction  while  she  sang 
of  peace  and  love. 

"  You  watch  Zellaphine  Mayo's  eyes  when 
she's  at  a  yarn,"  said  Cap'n  Pratt.  "If  they 
don't  agree  with  what  her  tongue's  saying, 
look  out  for  reefs." 

Like  the  lady  of  the  story,  she  might  be 
a  devil  to  face,  though  an  angel  to  follow  — 
especially  if  the  journey  were  long:  for  lips 
ugly  with  the  venom  of  exhaustion  were  sure 
to  obscure  the  memory  of  gracious  contours. 

Rene  Rousseau  had  been  a  youth  all  delight 
and  charm,  and  had  gone  out  to  conquer  the 
seas  that  engulfed  him  with  the  gayety  of  a 
(43) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


troubadour  who  plays  pitch  and  toss  with  his 
sword  and  trolls  a  bold  stave  as  he  rides  forth 
to  war.  But  his  young  wife,  broken,  perhaps, 
by  the  misery  of  her  loss,  developed  into  a 
shrew;  and  while  Zellaphine,  their  daughter, 
was  as  even  a  mixture  of  the  two  as  if  meas- 
ured by  a  pint  pot,  — so  much  good  red  wine 
to  an  equal  quantity  of  gall,  —  her  child,  Polly, 
harked  back  to  Rene's  bright  winsomeness; 
and  perhaps,  too,  the  years  were  yet  to  disclose 
a  core  of  English  strength  within  that  glowing 
rind.  However  that  might  be,  from  a  school 
madcap,  who  held  teachers  and  pupils  in  her 
silken  leash,  she  was  coming  to  her  heritage 
of  charm. 

Every  lad  in  the  village  had  had  his  season 
of  loving  Polly.  In  the  sad  winter,  three  years 
back,  when  it  was  believed  that  Bela  Mayo 
would  never  again  make  port,  —  the  ship  was 
months  overdue,  for  he  had  put  out  from  the 
African  Coast  with  a  crew  disabled  with  fever, 
—  and  Polly's  vivacity  was  softened  by  the  al- 
luring mist  of  sorrow,  not  a  man  of  the  young 
sailors  then  at  home  but  would  have  married 
(44) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


her  out  of  hand  and  set  sail  next  tide  on  the 
waters  of  illimitable  bliss.  But,  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  born  coquette,  Polly  smiled  on  all, 
and  loved  not  a  mother's  son  of  them.  Love 
could  not  be  such  a  serious  matter,  reasoned 
she,  when  a  man  languished  at  a  glance,  and 
next  season  married  him  an  excellent  wife  and 
set  about  the  business  of  living.  Perhaps  she 
had  wavered  in  the  game  when  it  came  to 
Scotto  Clark,  who,  as  he  added  art  to  the  in- 
stinct of  conquest,  was  more  than  her  match. 
He  could  no  more  resist  the  lure  of  a  pretty 
face  than  a  huntsman  could  forego  riding  for 
the  brush.  But  Polly  was  no  fool ;  she  knew 
gallop  from  trot,  and  when  the  chase  pressed, 
she  had  her  leafy  coverts.  The  bitterness  of 
her  exclamation  on  that  day  when  she  and 
Rachel  went  a-Maying  might  have  revealed  a 
tiny  wound  to  peering  eyes ;  but  a  stitch  or 
two  of  her  deft  fingers,  skilled  in  the  tricks 
of  such  surgery,  would  make  her  heart-whole 
once  more,  and  ready  for  another  game. 

On  a  warm  afternoon  in  June  she  sat  in 
her  shaded  parlor,  stitching,  not  hearts,  but 
(45) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  fine  undersleeves  she  had  promised  Rachel 
Sears.  She  had  never  been  able  to  bring  her 
curly  mop  into  the  precise  line  of  the  moment's 
fashion;  but  the  length  of  it  was  brushed 
smoothly  enough  into  a  coil  at  the  back  of 
her  small  head,  where  dark  tendrils  tipped 
with  gold  strayed  down  to  her  white  neck. 
Pretty  and  piquant  and  charming  were,  per- 
force, the  adjectives  for  each  member  of  Pol- 
ly's little  body;  and  perhaps  she  had  never 
looked  more  wholly  desirable  than  on  this  June 
afternoon,  as  she  sat  there  with  her  little  feet 
in  their  bronzed  slippers  crossed  on  a  foot- 
stool, her  little  waist  girdled  by  a  ribbon  to 
make  all  neat  with  her  pink-flowered  Dacca 
muslin,  her  little  hands  busy  with  their  pretty 
work:  yet  the  full  line  of  downcast  eyelids, 
and  brows  slanting  a  shade  upward  at  the 
temples,  belied  the  demureness  of  her  pose. 

John  Dillingham,  at  any  rate,  found  the  pic- 
ture not  unpleasing,  as  he  stretched  his  six- 
feet-two  of  manhood  on  the  East-Indian  wicker 
chair  by  the  window,  where  a  blossoming 
syringa  that  matched  the  althea  bush  beyond 
(46) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  straight  path  to  the  gate  was  swaying 
the  censers  of  its  heavy  perfume.  His  linen 
suit  gave  him  the  air  of  one  who  has  learned 
in  the  Orient  the  trick  of  circumventing  heat, 
and  his  big  brown  hands  wielded  a  fan  painted 
with  pagodas  and  silken  ladies  leering  from 
thin  slits  of  porcelain  faces.  His  blue  eyes, 
which  had  the  keenness  of  those  that  watch  at 
sea,  were  softened  to  their  present  occupation 
of  following  Polly's  needle  weaving  her  mys- 
terious feminine  will.  But  with  the  scene  set 
for  sentimental  dallying,  they  talked  of  Rachel 
Sears. 

"  There  is  nobody  like  her ;  there  is  nobody 
good  enough  for  her,"  Polly  was  declaring  in 
her  sweet  drawl  that  was  as  soft  as  the  touch 
of  a  kitten's  ear. 

"  Scot 's  a  good  fellow,"  said  John  stoutly. 

"  Oh,  yes.  He 's  good-hearted.  Perhaps  he 
only  needs  ballast.  But  Rachel  mustn't  be 
ballast." 

"No,  not  ballast." 

"  And,  John,  does  Rachel  really  love  him  ?  " 
Polly's  needle  stopped  its  weaving.  She  lifted 
(47) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  cover  of  the  gold-lacquered  table  at  her 
elbow  as  one  who  should  find  the  answer  to 
her  quest  among  its  ivory  treasures.  Then  she 
folded  the  half -finished  sleeve,  laid  it  carefully 
in  the  rose-silk  pouch  beneath  the  table,  and 
turned  to  John  as  if,  after  all,  one  must  go  to 
a  man  for  reasons.  "  You  see,  she  has  mothered 
every  one  since  she  was  a  baby,  —  her  own 
mother,  her  grandfather,  the  animals,  the  birds, 
—  perhaps  now  she 's  just  mothering  Scot.  He 
needs  a  mother."  She  gave  a  quick  nod,  and 
looked  at  John  with  a  funny  tight  slant  to 
her  curved  lips. 

"  They  must  work  it  out  themselves,  I  sup- 
pose," said  John  slowly,  as  he  began  to  turn 
the  leaves  of  "The  Floral  Year"  lying  on 
the  table  beside  him.  "Pretty  pictures,"  he 
commented  absently.  "  Do  you  really  like  this 
stuff?"  he  asked,  as  he  opened  the  fat  volume 
that  balanced  the  other  corner.  "  Now  listen  to 
this."  He  began  to  read  in  a  sepulchral  tone :  — 

" '  And  many  wise  in  many  words  should  answer,  what  is 

beauty  ? 

Who  shall  separate  the  hues  that  flicker  on  a  dying  dolphin? ' 
(48) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Oh,   Lord,"   groaned    John.    "  And    here 's 
another :  — 

'  Or  set  in  rank  the  wandering  shades  about  a  watered  silk  ? ' 

Give  me  something  easy,  —  broiling  dolphin 
steak  or  running  down  a  cachalot,"  he  ended. 
"Well,  I  don't  know,"  conceded  Polly.  "You 
see,  I  don't  read  much.  But  Miss  Asenath 
Snow  thinks  it 's  very  elevating,  and  we  're  to 
have  Tupper  for  the  subject  at  the  next  Ly- 


ceum." 


"  I'd  rather  hear  you  sing  '  The  Messenger 
Bird '  or  '  Come  to  the  Sunset  Tree '  than  have 
Miss  Asenath  Tupper  all  day,  —  rather  by  a 
long  chalk."  He  laughed  out  in  a  good  boy- 
ish shout,  and  went  across  to  the  alcove  where 
Polly's  seraphine  stood,  to  look  over  her 
music.  "Here  's  'The  Lovely  May,' "  he  said. 
"  Let 's  have  a  verse  or  two  of  that." 

"  The  Lovely  May  "  was  one  of  those  songs 
where  one  was  not  afraid  to  repeat  a  dominant 
adjective  as  many  times  as  need  be  to  fetch 
the  rhythm  around  to  the  point  of  departure, 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  off  in  the  mincing 

measures. 

(49) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  « Flowerets  bloom,  and  insects  play 
In  the  lovely,  lovely  May,' "  — 

trilled  Polly,  and  John  boomed  in  on  the 
chorus :  — 

'"Ever  charming,  ever  gay  ! 

Charming,    charming,    charming,    charming,   charming, 
lovely  May.' " 

They  went  on  to  — 

"  Time  never  lingers 
Moves  never  slow  "  ;  — 

and  another  where  there  were  many  "la-la-las  " 
and  "tra-la-las,"  with  an  emphasis  of  rhythm 
and  economy  of  word;  and  John  proceeded 
in  a  dogged  monotone,  "  La-la-la,"  while  she 
doubled  and  was  back  again  on  a  repeat. 
Polly  was  playing  a  rousing  accompaniment 
to  his  lusty  baritone  in  "The  True  Yankee 
Sailor,"  when  Mrs.  Zellaphine,  her  face  purple 
with  heat,  came  in  and  dropped  into  Polly's 
sewing-chair. 

"It's  Mary  Tilt's  own  fault,"  she  gasped. 

"Poor  mother,  it's  hot,  isn't  it?"  cooed 
Polly's  soft  voice. 

She  untied  the  ribbons  of  the  flat  sun-hat, 
(50) 


HIGH    BRADFORD 


rolled  and  pinned  them  neatly,  and  brought 
the  lace  cappee,  which  was  Mrs.  Zellaphine's 
tribute  to  matronhood.  Her  staid  contempo- 
raries regarded  the  cappee  as  proof  of  the 
ineradicable  frivolity  of  French  blood.  Her 
dark  hair  suggested  Polly's  crinkle ;  but  the 
labor  of  forty  years  had  subdued  it  to  a 
scarcely  perceptible  wave,  and  she  brushed  it 
down  low  over  her  cheeks  and  up  again  over 
the  ears  in  a  fashion  that  gave  her  the  appear- 
ance of  an  alert  and  kindly  spaniel. 

"It 's  Mary  Tilt's  own  fault,"  she  repeated. 
She  was  very  warm,  and  her  discomfort  took 
its  toll  of  Mary  Tilt's  delinquencies.  "I'd 
like  to  see  any  one  thrive  on  that  catlap  she 
lives  on.  She'd  rather  sew  than  eat.  She's 
sat  up  till  all  hours  finishing  Tamson  Crocker's 
wedding  clo'es.  I  told  her  how  't  would  be. 
And  Tamson  better  've  started  her  clo'es  in 
time,  and  not  take  it  out  of  poor  little  Mary 
Tilt.  I've  talked,  and  talked,  and  I'd  better 
've  held  my  tongue." 

"I  guess  that   calf's-foot  jelly  will  bring 
Mary  'round  all  right,"  offered  Polly. 
(51) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  What 's  a  mess  o'  calf 's-foot  jelly  !  " 
snorted  Zellaphine.  "She  needs  to  eat  three 
square  meals  a  day,  and  not  lift  a  finger  to 
sew,  and  sleep  ten  hours  in  the  twenty-four. 
Sometimes  seems  's  if  she's  just  perverse. 
She  isn't  so  poor  as  all  that  comes  to,  and 
she  don't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  day-old  kitten 
alive." 

Mrs.  Zellaphine,  who  was  proud  of  her 
cookery,  and  liked  nothing  better  than  stuff- 
ing friend  or  foe  to  the  limit  of  his  capacity, 
usually  returned  to  her  grievance  that  few 
men  and  no  women  ate  enough  for  a  kitten. 

"Where  to  now,  John?"  she  asked,  as 
John  picked  up  his  sun-helmet  and  stood  to 
say  good-bye.  She  had  acknowledged  his  pre- 
sence when  she  entered  only  by  a  curt  nod. 

"  To  Cap'n  Pratt's.  Josiah  Seabury  's  down 
with  typhoid,  and  I  want  Freeman  to  go  second 
mate  with  me." 

"  Long  voyage  this  time?  " 

"No.  Down  to  '  New-Orleens '  for  cargo, 
and  then  over  to  Antwerp.  The  Sally  ought 
to  be  a  fast  sailer.  I  've  been  watching  her 
(52) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


finishings  this  six  weeks  at  Newburyport,  and 
she's  the  right  build.  Then  I  want  to  make 
another  China  voyage." 

The  interval  had  been  sufficient  for  Zella- 
phine  to  regain  something  of  her  normal  tem- 
perature, and  Mary  Tilt's  trespass  subsided 
with  the  mercury.  Brimming  with  good-will, 
she  rose  to  bid  the  boy  good-bye. 

"One  voyage  at  a  time,  John,"  said  she, 
patting  him  affectionately  on  the  shoulder, 
"but  good  luck  in  all." 

Polly  went  with  him  into  the  front  entry. 

"I  may  not  see  you  again,  good  little 
friend,"  said  he.  Cap'n  Elkanah  himself  could 
not  have  bent  over  her  hand  in  more  courtly 
fashion. 

"  Oh,"  said  Polly,  "  not  again?  Well,  fair 
sailing,  John." 

"And  Polly  —  be  good  to  Rachel,"  said 
he,  turning  back  quickly. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  be  good  to  Rachel." 

But  she  shook  her  head  sadly  as  she  watched 
him  swinging  down  the  deutzia  path. 


^ 


A  SENATH  SNOW  lived  in  a  square  white 
im  house  that  marked  the  exact  centre 
of  the  town.  One  great  chimney  gave  vent  to 
her  cavernous  fireplaces;  kitchen  and  butter- 
ies and  milk-room  succeeded  one  another  in  the 
outhouses  that  stretched  to  the  barn.  On  a  day 
in  May  apple  and  peach  orchards  made  her  a 
blossomy  bower,  and,  more  practically,  as  be- 
came her  thrifty  spinsterhood,  offered  her  in 
autumn  the  choicest  brands  of  fruit.  A  tall 
arbor-vitae  hedge  sheltered  this  isle  of  maiden 
plenty  from  the  traffic  that  floated  gently  up 
(54) 


HIGH    BRADFORD 


and  down  to  the  next  turn  of  the  stage-road 
where  stood  the  post-office  and  general  store 
presided  over  by  her  uncle,  General  Philander 
Paine. 

Like  Cap'n  Elkanah,  Philander  Paine  had 
served  the  state  as  well  as  the  sea,  and  in  his 
old  age  was  turning  an  honest  penny  in  his 
little  shop  which  was  also  a  clubroom  for  all 
the  old  sea-dogs  in  town.  Every  morning  they 
might  be  seen  strolling  down  the  village  street 
toward  Philander's.  One  might  stop  by  the 
way,  perhaps,  to  visit  a  household  that  had 
been  established  since  he  last  made  port,  where 
the  first  little  toddler  was  just  tall  enough  to 
hold  by  a  horny  forefinger  and  stagger  down 
to  the  gate  with  his  new  friend,  who  was  sure 
to  have  sugar-plums  in  a  capacious  pocket. 
Or  another  visited  the  low-eaved  house  whence 
the  wife  and  mother  had  gone  for  the  last 
time  to  sleep  among  the  willows  and  poplars 
in  the  burying-ground  on  the  hill,  all  her  sim- 
ple history  engraved  on  the  slate  stone  above 
her:  "During  a  long  life  she  performed  her 
duties  with  fidelity  and  zeal,  and  died  in  the 
(55) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


triumphs    of    Christian    faith    and   resigna- 
tion." 

But  whatever  the  digression  the  walk  was 
sure  to  end  at  General  Philander' s ;  and  not  a 
day  passed  that  three  or  four  captains  did  not 
meet  in  the  little  back  room  to  exchange  gos- 
sip of  the  land  and  sea.  Now  and  then  a  small 
boy  stole  in  to  listen  to  the  stories  that  taught 
him  more  geography  than  a  dull  schoolbook 
could  have  done  in  a  month,  and  then  went 
home  to  pore  over  grandfather's  "  English  Pi- 
lot," where  the  seas  were  charted  like  jewelled 
stars,  and  lands  of  romance  lay  alluringly  behind 
sinuous  coast-lines.  If  you  had  mastered  the 
trick  of  the  long  "  esses "  in  the  black  letter- 
press, you  could  learn  how  to  sail  a  ship  in  and 
out  of  the  Bights  of  Benin  and  Biaf  ra,  and  you 
could  supply  your  own  cannibals  lurking  behind 
"the  three  tall  trees"  if  you  had  made  a  good 
landfall  off  the  Cameroons.  You  generally  pre- 
ferred the  Tooth  Coast  to  a  Greenland  voyage, 
although  you  would  like  to  see  for  yourself 
if  the  penguin  "  had  a  white  spot  under  one 
of  their  eyes,  which  nature  has  ordered  to  be 
(56) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


under  the  right  eye  for  extraordinary  remarks," 
as  was  observed  by  one  Captain  Henry  South- 
wood  in  the  year  1715. 

Every  Bradford  boy  dreamed  of  mountain- 
ous seas,  and  calms  when  strange  monsters 
nosed  up  from  their  oozy  lairs,  and  of  the 
great  rollers  that  swept  down  the  world  to 
break  on  the  rim  of  some  rocky  southern  isl- 
and. And  he  meant  to  begin  with  a  record 
voyage  around  the  Horn,  and  he  hoped  an- 
other war  would  furnish  the  stuff  on  which  to 
prove  his  prowess,  wherein,  alas,  he  was  not  to 
be  disappointed.  It  was  civil  war  when  Yan- 
kee captains  were  again  running  blockades, 
although,  before  then,  John  Dillingham,  in  a 
slack  year,  shipped  men  instead  of  merchan- 
dise, —  Frenchmen,  as  it  happened,  to  be  shot 
down  before  Russian  redoubts  in  the  Crimea. 
But  here  in  the  little  shop  was  a  lesson  worth 
more  than  the  great  chapter  of  adventure  for 
a  boy's  learning :  for  no  toil  was  rated  mean 
in  Bradford ;  and  a  commander  or  merchant 
or  statesman  turned  quite  simply  to  farming  or 
shop-keeping  when  his  sons  were  old  enough 
(57) 


HIGH  BEADFORD 


to  follow  the  sea.  The  village  cobbler  and 
blacksmith  were  as  good  as  the  best,  and 
one  had  a  son  in  the  Russia  trade,  and  the 
other  a  boy  who  was  a  great  merchant  at 
"Melbun."  Then  the  hilltop  was  reached  at 
forty,  and  the  downward  path,  whether  leis- 
urely or  precipitous,  a  man  liked  best  to  tread 
out  at  home. 

The  Paines,  father  and  son  and  brother,  had 
belonged  to  the  unbroken  aristocracy  of  the 
sea  since  the  first  ventures  had  gone  back  to 
the  Old  World.  Philander  had  been  a  deep- 
water  captain  before  he  had  succeeded  General 
Clark  in  the  militia ;  and  he  had  his  taste  of 
real  war  by  more  than  one  thrilling  escape 
from  British  frigates  in  1812.  The  small 
boys  liked  no  story  better  than  that  of  Phi- 
lander's  capturing  a  prize  crew  on  his  own 
brig  and  sailing  them  into  Baltimore.  He  had 
been  nosing  his  way  out  to  sea  when  a  frig- 
ate cut  across  his  path  and  he  saw  that  the 
first  throw  in  the  game  had  fallen  to  the  Brit- 
isher. He  sent  his  crew  below,  and  when  the 
boarding-officer  asked  his  strength,  pointed  to 
(58) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  man  and  boy  on  deck.  "  You  see,"  said 
Cap'n  Philander,  and  a  guard  of  three  or 
four  was  thought  sufficient  for  such  a  light- 
manned  boat.  But  that  evening  a  smart  little 
breeze  came  zipping  along,  and  Philander 
called  up  his  crew  before  you  could  say 
"Jack  Robinson,"  and  raced  into  Baltimore 
to  hand  over  his  guard  to  the  American 
authorities. 

Asenath  Snow's  trig  house  at  the  turn  of 
the  road —  her  mother  was  sister  to  General 
Philander  —  was  stored  with  treasures  which 
the  Paines  had  brought  from  many  lands; 
and  as  her  father  had  been  the  lawyer  of 
Bradford  and  the  neighboring  villages,  his 
library  was  rich  in  old  leather-bound  books  — 
of  the  law?  Yes:  but  more  beloved  were  the 
Greek  poets  and  the  English  essayists  and 
novelists.  Asenath's  most  vivid  picture  of  him 
was  as  he  sat  of  a  winter  evening  in  his  "  snug- 
gery," his  great  winged  chair  drawn  up  to  the 
blazing  hearth,  reading  again  and  again  Field- 
ing or  Hazlitt,  or  the  Waverley  novels  as  they 
came  over  the  sea.  In  summer  he  turned  more 
(59) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


to  the  Greeks ;  and  as  a  small  girl  her  delight 
had  been  to  hear  him  chant  the  ringing  cho- 
ruses of  Euripides  or  the  stately  rhythm  of 
Homer's  verse.  He  himself,  with  his  mutton- 
chop  whisker  and  fine  head,  looked  to  he  both 
Britisher  and  Greek.  As  a  fact,  he  had  come 
over  from  Yorkshire  when  a  lad,  a  later  pil- 
grim from  Old  England  than  other  Bradford- 
ites,  but  of  the  same  tradition  and  blood. 
Asenath  lived  in  the  old  house  with  Bridget. 

O         ' 

sister  to  Mrs.  Dillingham's  Molly  Connelly, 
whose  father  lived  in  a  neat  house  across  the 
fields  and  "  farmed  it  "for  Asenath  and  other 
lone  women  of  the  town.  She  was  an  "  old 
maid  "  by  Bradford  arithmetic ;  but  thirty- 
five  years  had  not  dimmed  her  brown  hair 
and  pink  cheeks ;  and  when  every  one  dressed 
with  a  Quaker  demureness,  she  was  not  old 
because  she  wore  softly  flowing  gray  silks, 
and  prim  berthas,  and  bonnets  in  whose  flower- 
wreathed  depths  her  face  looked  as  smoothly 
fresh  as  Polly  Mayo's  own. 

Asenath  had  declined  from   the   fine  old 
literature  which  was  her  father's  delight  to 
(60) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  Early  Victorian  story-tellers  and  bards 
who  set  a  less  heroic  pace.  Anne  C.  Lynch 
and  Martin  Tupper  were  the  fashion  ;  and  in 
the  Lyceum,  which  had  been  the  Female 
Reading  Society  of  their  mothers,  Bradford 
women  were  smearing  their  strong  good  sense 
and  humorous  appreciation  of  realities  with 
the  modern  veneer.  They  read  largely  the 
literature  commended  in  the  "  Lady's  Book," 
to  which  every  household  with  any  pretension 
to  elegance  subscribed  ;  and,  by  his  own  show- 
ing, Mr.  Godey  offered  no  mean  pabulum  for 
the  female  mind.  "  The  pages  of  the  *  Lady's 
Book,'  "  announced  his  prospectus, "  will  be  a 
shrine  for  the  offerings  of  those  who  wish  to 
promote  the  mental,  moral,  and  religious  im- 
provement of  woman.  For  female  genius  it  is 
the  appropriate  sphere.  It  will  contain  a  new 
and  elegant  engraving  in  every  number  — 
also  music  and  patterns  for  ladies'  muslin 
work  and  other  embellishments."  Asenath 
and  Rachel's  mother,  Caroline  Sears,  were 
partners  in  disseminating  such  benefits  in 
Bradford.  No  women  in  the  town  were  busier : 
(61) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


they  chose  subjects  for  the  Lyceum,  they 
taught  in  the  Sunday-school,  they  organized 
a  class  for  young  girls  who  should  discuss 
moral  problems  as  bearing  on  their  personal 
experience,  —  "  character  meetings,"  these 
came  to  be  called,  —  and  sufficient  frivolity 
in  the  way  of  high  teas  and  picnics  and 
sketching  classes  baited  the  trap  of  intellec- 
tual advancement. 

On  a  summer  morning  the  two  were  hatch- 
ing a  new  project  in  the  cosey  sitting-room 
which  Asenath  liked  to  call  her  boudoir,  al- 
though there  no  feminine  kickshaws  made  the 
disarray  beloved  of  women's  hearts.  The  solid 
mahogany  desk  with  the  leaded-glass  cupboard 
was  in  the  precise  order  that  betokens  little  use ; 
quill  pen  and  sand  box  and  heavy  old  inkwell 
made  a  methodical  group  on  its  open  leaf  — 
many  a  will  and  deed  of  transfer  had  Lawyer 
Snow  turned  out  with  those  implements.  Law 
books  had  been  banished  to  the  garret;  and 
bound  copies  of  "  Godey  "  and  splendid  gilt 
"Annuals"  held  their  places  on  the  shelves 
cheek  by  jowl  with  Smollett  and  stubby  brown 
(62) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


volumes  of  the  "  Spectator."  Asenath's  little 
flowered  sewing-table,  which  her  mother  had 
painted  as  exquisitely  as  French  fingers  could 
have  done  it,  stood  in  a  sunny  corner,  where, 
in  winter,  the  English  ivy  branched  out  to 
wreathe  the  room  with  its  glossy  green.  A 
snuggery  it  might  still  be  named,  but  a  snug- 
gery of  the  same  delicate  ordering  that  found 
expression  in  Asenath's  dress  and  her  smoothly 
banded  hair. 

A  pile  of  books  was  on  the  floor  by  the  card- 
table. 

"The  beginning  of  the  Bradford  Lend- 
ing Library,"  said  Caroline.  "  Perhaps  it  will 
become  as  famous  as  the  Boston  Mercantile 
Library." 

"  What  we  must  do,"  responded  Asenath 
promptly,  —  she  dealt  in  methods  and  left  dreams 
to  whom  they  should  concern,  —  "what  we 
must  do  is  to  interest  the  girls.  We  will  form 
a  society,  each  member  to  pledge  her  share  of 
two  dollars  or  an  equivalent  in  books,  and  we 
must  have  entertainments  and  a  fair." 

"  We  could  hold  it  in  our  orchard  in  Au- 
(63) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


gust,"  said  Caroline,  who  always  had  an  eye 
for  the  picturesque,  "  and  the  girls  shall  he 
dressed  as  nymphs.  My  little  class  in  concho- 
logy  will,  I  am  sure,  make  some  pretty  shell- 
work  of  their  specimens,  and  I  have  just  been 
teaching  a  few  children  to  make  moss  pictures 
and  mottoes  which  should  have  a  ready  sale." 

"  No  doubt  we  shall  be  able  to  furnish 
the  tables,"  said  Asenath,  with  a  reserve  which 
seemed  to  indicate  that  she  knew  a  thing  or  two 
beyond  shells  or  moss. 

The  two  were  perfectly  mated  in  their  in- 
nocent plottings  for  the  raising  of  Bradford's 
intellectual  level.  Caroline  caught  the  breeze 
of  any  new  idea  with  a  sure  instinct  of  response, 
and  tinkled  out  her  fancies  to  the  practical  mind 
of  Asenath,  who  had  a  genius  for  appropriating 
imaginative  projects  and  turning  them  loose 
again  fashioned  for  use.  A  spirit  less  gentle  than 
Caroline's  would  have  craved  its  meed  of  right- 
ful praise;  but  that  soft  heart  held  no  spark 
of  envy,  and  she  dreamed  only  of  her  beloved 
village  as  the  home  of  all  the  arts.  She  knew 
that  Asenath  would  sift  out  the  tares  of  the 
(64) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


chimerical  with  a  ruthless  turn  of  her  capable 
hand,  which  would  sow  only  the  seed  that  should 
produce  fruit;  and,  thinking  of  Bradford  rather 
than  of  Caroline  Sears,  she  was  content.  This 
lending  library  had  been  her  fond  dream  for 
many  a  year,  but  only  this  summer  had  Asenath 
regarded  it  as  feasible. 

The  young  minister,  who  had  succeeded  Doc- 
tor Thompson,  had  found  the  parsonage  over- 
large  for  his  modest  household,  and  a  room  to 
the  left  of  the  front  door  had  been  unfurnished. 
Asenath  saw  that  this  would  make  an  ideal 
library  room,  for  its  easy  accessibility  would 
encourage  the  villagers  to  pay  a  small  fee  to 
drink  at  the  fount  of  knowledge.  They  had 
yet  to  broach  this  plan  to  the  minister,  but 
Miss  Asenath  made  sure  of  managing  him 
somehow ;  and  it  was  as  if  James  Bristed  had 
unwittingly  invited  their  proposal  by  giving 
over  to  them  for  the  use  of  the  Lyceum  or 
the  Sunday-school  his  sister's  little  library 
which  she  had  left  behind  when  she  went  out 
to  Australia  after  her  marriage.  The  Bristeds 
were  a  bookish  family,  where  the  girls  studied 
(65) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


with  their  brothers,  and  might  have  entered 
college  with  them  and  been  graduated,  for 
that  matter;  and  Alice  Bristed's  cast-off  li- 
brary was  choicer  than  many  a  girl's  of  her  day 
might  have  been.  The  two  conspirators  had 
been  looking  over  her  books  that  morning. 

"  It  is  well  to  have  some  serious  volumes," 
said  Asenath.  "  We  shall  have  enough  '  An- 
nuals '  and  story-books." 

"  I  'm  glad  we  have  these  Miss  Edge- 
worth's,"  said  Caroline.  "And  here's  Mrs. 
Opie." 

" Potted  sprats?  "  offered  Asenath  slyly. 

Caroline  blushed  and  laughed,  for  Cap'n 
Elkanah  was  wont  to  quote  that  immortal  in- 
cident as  a  warning  for  her  too  accommodat- 
ing will. 

"  James  Bristed  is  a  wide-awake  young 
man,"  digressed  Asenath,  "  and  we  ought  to 
see  some  new  doings  in  the  parish." 

"  Like  enough  he  '11  make  us  see  things  as 
we  ought,"  conceded  Caroline. 

"  He  's  been  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  has 
some  fine  charts  for  the  Sunday-school.  Those 
(66) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


children  might 's  well  be  getting  a  little  his- 
tory and  geography  with  their  religion.  I 
must  say  I  prefer  facts  to  precepts  myself." 

"  Still,  old  Doctor  Thompson  taught  us  a 
good  many  things  we  can't  afford  to  forget," 
said  Caroline,  whose  heart  turned  to  the  past 
as  fondly  as  her  imagination  scurried  into  the 
future.  "  And  I  'm  not  sure  but  the  chart  of 
his  holy  living  is  about  as  fine  a  thing  as  we  're 
likely  to  see." 

At  eleven  o'clock,  when  they  had  sketched 
in  the  scheme  of  their  library,  and  were  pre- 
pared for  an  advance  upon  the  town,  there 
was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  side  door  and  then 
the  stump  of  a  resolute  step  across  the  middle 
room. 

"  What  you  two  up  to  now?  "  called  Gen- 
eral Philander.  "  Something  to  empty  our 
pockets,  I  '11  be  bound.  What 's  to  pay, 
Asenath?" 

"  Two  dollars  to  the  Bradford  Lending  Li- 
brary, uncle,"  said  Asenath  promptly.  "  And 
you  as  good  give  it  now  as  later.  *  General 
Philander  Paine/  top  line,  and  if  you  start 
(67) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


out  with  two  dollars,  Cap'n  Dillingham  and 
Beriah  Pratt  won't  give  less." 

"You've  missed  your  job,  'Senath.  You 
ought  to  ha'  been  a  pirate  and  cruised  the 
Spanish  Main.  I  never  sail  into  your  waters 
that  I  don't  get  a  shot  across  my  bows." 

He  beamed  down  upon  the  two  women  like 
the  argent  moon,  and  produced  the  cash  from 
a  flat  wallet  embellished  with  a  portrait  of 
Napoleon. 

"  Asenath  does  know  how  to  get  the  money," 
said  Caroline,  rather  wistfully. 

"  None  better,  Mrs.  Caroline.  But  I  suspect 
you  of  being  a  master  hand  at  plots." 

"  Oh,  General  Paine,"  deprecated  Caro- 
line. 

Then  she  made  her  good-byes,  and  in  a 
flutter  of  laughter  and  veils  and  pena  scarfs 
floated  off  to  her  conchology  class. 

"  She  don't  seem  much  put  about  by  this 
nonsense  between  Rachel  and  Scot  Clark," 
growled  Philander. 

"I  don't  know  what  she  can  do,"  said 
Asenath.  "  I  suppose  they  've  got  to  take 
(68) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


each  other  for  better  or  worse  like  other  mar- 
ried folks." 

"  Worse,  worse,  worse,  I  '11  be  bound.  He 
ain't  fit  to  tie  her  shoe.  Here  to-day,  and  there 
to-morrow,  that 's  Scot  Clark,  and  always  will 
be.  Even  Rachel  Sears  can't  change  a  man's 
nature." 

"Well,  if  he  continues  to  follow  the  sea, 
that  will  give  him  enough  wandering,"  re- 
turned Asenath,  who  always  saw  a  way  out. 

"  There  are  n't  miles  enough  in  the  ocean  to 
keep  that  feller  going.  He  ought  to  be  King 
of  the  Indies,  and  a  mutiny  on  hand  every 
other  day  to  keep  him  busy.  And  when  his 
mind  is  n't  occupied  with  laudable  enterprise, 
he  's  bound  for  mischief.  I  know  him.  Rachel 
*d  be  chart  and  compass  for  most  men  ;  but  I 
doubt  me  if  she  can  steer  Scotto  Clark  through 
the  strip  o'  water  ahead  of  'em. " 

"  What  she  sets  her  hand  to  she  won't 
flinch  from,"  said  Asenath.  "And  she's 
known  him  egg  and  bird,  they  being  like 
brother  and  sister,  ever  since  he  came  here  in 
roundabouts." 

(69) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"Yes,  and  poured  my  jug  of  l  New-Orleens ' 
into  the  meal-bin." 

"  That  was  a  great  to-do.  The  young  man 
got  his  first  good  thrashing  that  day,  and  you 
gave  it  to  him." 

"Pity  he  had  n't  had  more."  The  old  man 
chuckled  himself  into  good  humor,  and  then 
sobered.  "Those  good  women  have  daring 
souls,  'Senath.  They  may  be  doing  the  Lord's 
work  when  they  risk  shipwreck  to  save  us  men. 
But  I  question  whether  a  mother's  son  of  us 
is  worth  it." 


VI 

THE  Clark  farmyard  brimmed  with  the 
glory  of  the  late  summer  day  like  a 
yokel's  tankard  filled  with  golden  wine,  and 
the  air  was  heavy  with  the  warm  scent  of  hay 
and  munching  cattle.  Silent  birds  scurried 
overhead  straight  to  their  waiting  nests  ;  and 
the  barn  swallows  swooped  low  in  saucy  defi- 
ance of  Jehosaphat,  who  sat  bolt  upright  in 
the  precise  middle  of  the  yard  and  blinked 
oblique  yellow  eyes  at  them.  It  was  Jehosa- 
phat and  his  offspring  that  formed  the  basis 
of  enmity  between  Azubah  and  little  Mike 
(71) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Connelly,  and  the  clash  of  battle  renewed  rang 
above  the  clatter  of  ducks  and  the  remind- 
ing voices  of  the  sheep  at  the  barnyard  gate. 
The  ducks  were  at  their  trick  of  assuring 
Mike  that  that  night,  at  any  rate,  he  had  for- 
gotten to  give  them  their  supper. 

"Them  ducks  do  beat  all,"  he  had  said  to 
his  grandfather,  Felix,  who,  milking  over,  was 
standing  at  ease  in  the  barn  door,  hands  in 
pockets,  looking  at  nothing.  "They  fooled 
me  once ;  an'  now  they  chuck  down  their  feed, 
an'  start  in  hollerin'  's  if  they  had  n't  et  for  a 
week." 

He  stooped  to  give  Jehosaphat's  furry  chin 
a  deft  upstroke. 

"Here,  you  Mike,"  shrilled  Azubah  from 
the  kitchen.  "You  be  about  feedin'  them 
sheep,  an'  then  set  yourself  to  clearin'  out 
cats.  I  won't  have  'em  multiplyin'  an'  carous- 
in'  in  that  barn  another  day." 

Azubah  had  declared  a  war  of  extermina- 
tion on  the  barn  cats ;  yet,  though  the  animal 
itself  was  abomination  to  her,  the  name  of  the 
cat  was  continually  in  her  mouth.  She  swore 
(72) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


by  great  Paklit  though  she  knew  it  not.  Did 
cake  fall  or  china  smash,  she  invoked  the  cat's 
hind  foot  or  the  kitten's  tail,  and  the  cat  was 
her  unfailing  barometer.  The  Clark  cats  knew 
their  duty :  as  if  it  were  precious  lore  handed 
down  through  the  generations  and  with  the  air 
of  detachment  characteristic  of  the  race,  they 
seemed  to  relieve  one  another  in  the  game  of 
baiting  Azubah.  "  Look  at  that  Tom,  look  at 
him,"  she  would  cry  on  a  doubtful  wash-day 
when  she  would  have  conjured  the  sun  to 
shine.  There  sat  Jehosaphat  on  the  barn  door 
run,  and  washed  his  face  over  and  around 
and  about,  pausing  now  and  then  as  if  to  leer 
at  Azubah's  kitchen  window  with  a  "Now, 
then,  old  girl,  how  about  rain  !  "  Or  a  Mai  tee, 
with  tail  aloft  stiff  as  a  button-hook,  capered 
sideways  across  the  yard :  "  a  gale  o'  wind  "  in 
that  tail,  any  old  salt  could  have  told  you; 
and  Azubah  made  sure  it  would  blow  up  a 
storm.  Not  a  velvet  paw  dared  cross  the  house 
threshold;  but  three  generations  were  grow- 
ing fat  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  barn,  and  she 
was  as  determined  to  rout  out  all  but  the  nec- 
(73) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


essary  mouser  as  was  little  Mike  to  keep  his 
pets. 

"I  told  you  I  wuz  tryin'  to  get  homes  for 
'em,"  he  threw  hack  at  her  from  the  safe  dis- 
tance of  the  middle  yard.  And  Jehosaphat 
gave  paw  as  if  to  seal  a  pact,  offensive  and 
defensive,  against  the  common  enemy  of  boys 
and  cats.  "  Cap'n  Paine  thinks  he  'd  like  Mer- 
inda,  an'  Miss  Asenath — " 

"  It  takes  you  a  long  time  to  go  an  hour, 
Mike  Connelly,  when  you  don't  want  to  make 
port.  If  your  will  to  get  rid  o'  them  cats  had 
been  as  strong  as  a  kitten's  forefinger,  there  'd 
be  just  one  cat  by  now." 

"  Cap'n  Clark  says  I  can  keep  —  " 

"What's  that  you're  going  to  keep,  Mike?" 
called  Cap'n  Elkanah's  rich  leisurely  tone  from 
the  side  porch,  where  he  sat  in  the  warm  glow 
of  the  west  and  waited  for  Rachel  to  join  him 
for  their  evening  walk. 

"  The  cats,  please,  sir.  Lydia  an'  Merinda  's 
splendid  mousers,  an'  Jehosaphat  kinder  keeps 
'em  up  to  their  work.  Then  there 's  the  black 
kitten  Miss  Rachel  cosseted  last  winter." 
(74) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  How  about  them  two  new  families  o'  kit- 
tens?" clanged  Azubah  from  her  window. 
"  Your  wits  shine  like  a  cat's  eye  under  the 
bed  when  you're  tryin'  to  git  your  own  way." 

With  a  thought  to  the  impatient  sheep,  Mike 
picked  up  his  basin  of  corn. 

"  Well,  Mike,  perhaps  two  families  of  kit- 
tens are  more  than  we  need,"  interposed  the 
peacemaker.  "Suppose  you  keep  one  kitten 
from  each  lot,  as  Jehosaphat  's  growing  into 
years  and  may  be  losing  his  nose  for  a  mouse. 
And  I  think  you  better  let  Cap'n  Paine  have 
Merinda." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  grinned  Mike,  at  what  was  vir- 
tual victory.  He  went  off  trolling  — 

" '  Away,  haul  away, 
Haul  away,  Josey.' " 

For  he,  too,  meant  to  go  to  sea,  and  his  daz- 
zling ambition  was  to  be  chanty-man  and  lead 
the  choruses  for  his  mates. 

Azubah  had  her  opinion  of  pert  boys  and 

soft-hearted  old  gentlemen.  "  We'll  be  bavin' 

a  cat  farm  next  news,"  she  snorted.  But  it 

would  be  something  to  see  six  kittens  the  less 

(75) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


daring  the  leap  from  barn-sill  to  yard.  She 
shied  an  apple  at  Jehosaphat,  who  rose  slowly 
and  ostentatiously  sniffed  as  at  alien  tribute  ; 
and  then  she  went  back  to  her  kitchen  to 
sprinkle  clothes  for  to-morrow's  ironing. 

Cap'n  Elkanah,  with  the  help  of  old  Felix 
and  his  son  and  little  Mike,  had  made  the  most 
of  his  fifty  acres  that  stretched  from  lane  to 
beach.  Flowers  bloomed  in  the  small  square 
garden  under  the  dining-room  windows,  where 
the  formal  beds  and  walks,  the  encircling 
hedges  and  the  balustrade  and  great  stone  vase 
overflowing  with  delicate  greenery,  gave  it  the 
secret  look  of  some  old  pleasaunce ;  and  in  the 
sunny  corner  where  Cap'n  Elkanah  had  set 
a  French  garden  bench  against  the  roses,  it 
would  not  have  been  difficult  to  picture  the 
merry  gentlefolk  of  Watteau  coquetting  there 
with  youth  and  time.  Flowers,  again,  bor- 
dered the  large  low-lying  garden  to  the  east 
of  the  house  where  vegetables  grew;  cows 
were  pastured  in  the  brook  meadow;  Mike's 
sheep  grazed  a  little  stony  upland ;  corn-fields 
stretched  beyond  the  barnyard ;  meadows  of 
(76) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


waving  grasses  encircled  all.  And  farther  yet 
was  the  pine  wood  where  the  children  used  to 
play,  and  Wehasset  Pond,  the  lair  of  pirates, 
and  then  the  dunes  gay  with  silver  beach-grass 
and  lupin.  And  on  the  edge  of  the  low  cliffs 
that  overlooked  the  bay  were  Cap'n  Elkanah's 
salt-works,  which,  when  the  great  troughs  set 
up  on  piles  were  capped  with  their  pitch  roofs, 
looked  not  unlike  some  outlandish  Polynesian 
village.  Salt-making  had  been  a  profitable 
business  in  the  old  days  before  the  Revolu- 
tion when  salt  was  not  imported ;  and  Cap'n 
Elkanah  still  made  it  the  chief  concern  of  his 
day  from  the  early  spring,  when  he  set  the 
little  windmills  at  their  task  of  pumping  sea- 
water  into  the  tanks,  until  he  battened  down 
the  roofs  in  the  autumn. 

On.  a  fair  summer  evening,  he  and  Rachel 
were  apt  to  take  the  field  path  down  to  the 
shore,  — to  look  at  the  works,  he  professed, 
and  compute  how  big  a  job  of  evaporation 
the  sun  had  accomplished  that  day.  But  more 
they  went  for  pure  pleasure  of  the  sweet  earth 
and  of  their  own  company.  Wild  rose  and 
(77) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


honeysuckle,  elderberry  and  white  clethra 
bloomed  there  in  the  season,  the  air  was  tonic 
with  bayberry  and  pine  and  the  sharp  tang  of 
the  salt,  and  the  old  man  and  girl  were  like 
lover  and  lass  in  the  close  bonds  of  their  affec- 
tion. She  was  as  proud  of  his  beautiful  age  as 
he  of  her  youth ;  and  as  they  walked  down  the 
path  in  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun,  he  bent  a 
little  from  the  great  stature  of  his  early  man- 
hood, but  there  was  boyish  vigor  in  his  ruddy 
face,  keen  blue  eyes,  and  thatch  of  white  hair. 
She  had  the  corresponding  height  of  woman, 
her  hair  was  touched  to  an  unexpected  red  by 
the  splendor  of  the  west  and  the  faint  color 
in  her  white  skin  was  picked  out  by  the  roses 
tucked  under  the  brim  of  her  hat.  He  was 
rallying  her  on  the  extravagance  of  wearing 
her  new  mantilla,  and  she  retorted  that  her 
best  must  always  be  for  him.  "  Gran'ther's 
comfort-child,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  her  hand 
through  his  strong  old  arm.  And  again,  like 
lovers,  they  walked  on  through  the  scents  and 
sounds  of  the  summer  evening. 

They  reached  the  dunes  as  the  sun  dropped 
(78) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


below  the  horizon.  The  tide  was  dead  low, 
and  glistening  sand  flats  stretched  out  to  the 
faint  line  of  foam,  where  blue  water  broke  on 
the  "  great  bar."  The  white  cliffs  of  the  op- 
posite shore  loomed  through  the  tranquil  air; 
the  sky  was  a  royal  mantle  for  the  dying  day, 
the  floor  of  the  bay  effulgent  with  glowing 
color  as  of  mother-o'-pearl  and  jacinth,  chryso- 
prase  and  porphyry. 

" '  They  that  occupy  themselves  in  deep 
waters  see  the  wonderful  works  of  God,' ' 
said  Elkanah,  as  they  stood  on  the  brow  of 
the  cliff.  "  Many  times  in  my  youth  that  say- 
ing came  home  to  me;  and  in  my  old  age 
His  works  are  as  marvellous." 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  is  so  lovely  as  our 
little  bay,"  said  she,  jealously. 

"  At  this  hour  it  is  more  like  heaven  than 
earth,  —  like  the  gate  of  the  world  where  we 
must  all  come  at  last." 

"  Gran'ther,  dear."  She  snuggled  her  hand 
into  his  arm. 

"And   death   may  come   like  a  king  out 
there.  I  remember  in  the  North  Sea  a  derelict 
(79) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


bark  where  thirty  men  lay  frozen  corpses,  and 
all  encased  in  glittering  ice.  Those  poor 
nameless  fellows  had  the  mausoleum  of  an 
emperor." 

They  were  silent  a  moment,  and  he  thought 
of  death,  and  she,  perhaps,  of  life. 

"Life  is  a  king  who  gives,"  said  Rachel 
softly. 

"  It 's  giving  and  giving,"  assented  Elkanah 
Clark,  who  had  seen  all  the  world  and  the  men 
thereof,  and  death  in  multitudinous  forms. 
"  But,  dear  heart,  I  mistrust  sometimes  that 
you  may  give  too  much.  All  your  life  you 
have  given  —  comfort,  and  peace,  and  joy. 
You  have  given  to  your  mother  and  to  me, 
and  to  all  the  sorrowful  and  weak.  Now  you 
should  receive.  Scotto — " 

"  Scotto  gives,  too,"  said  she,  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man.  He  turned  with 
a  sigh  to  look  once  more  across  the  fading 
glory  to  the  shore  heyond.  "It  was  on  such  a 
night  as  this,"  he  said,  "  that  the  Aphrodite, 
went  down." 

The  old  stories  were  always  new  to  Rachel, 
(80) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


for,  as  the  years  went  on,  he  retold  them,  not, 
it  seemed,  out  of  the  garrulity  of  age,  but 
from  a  deeper  insight.  She  had  heard  of  the 
Aphrodite  a  hundred  times,  and  was  eager  for 
the  retelling. 

"  We  were  in  a  belt  of  calms,"  he  went  on, 
"  and  when  we  abandoned  her,  leaking  as  she 
was,  that  thousand  miles  off  Rio,  we  must  row 
ten  miles,  or  perhaps  a  hundred  and  ten,  to 
strike  the  southeast  trades.  The  sea  was  like 
glass,  the  sun  just  slipping  out  of  sight.  I  had 
boarded  her  once  more  and  made  sure  that 
she  must  soon  be  sinking,  and  we  had  pulled 
off  a  bit  in  the  boats.  Suddenly  the  men  at 
the  oars  cried  '  Look,  look  at  her ! '  A  breeze 
had  caught  her  sails,  full  set,  and  she  seemed 
to  follow  us.  But  her  hour  had  come;  she 
careened  heavily,  this  side  and  then  the 
other,  and  down  she  went  as  if  her  heart 
broke." 

Silently,  they  set  about  the  business  of  cov- 
ering the  salt  vats.  By  a  simple  mechanism, 
two  of  the  roofs  swung  into  place  with  the 
turn  of  a  hand. 

(81) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  She  had  been  a  live  thing,  that  Aphro- 
dite" said  Rachel,  as  they  turned  homeward 
in  the  purple  afterglow  that  made  the  land  as 
magic  as  the  sea.  "  Her  heart  broke." 


vn 

THE  parsonage  was  one  of  the  oldest 
houses  in  town,  built  early  in  the  seven- 
teen hundreds,  when  Bradford  and  its  neigh- 
bor, the  fishing-village  on  the  sea,  made  one 
township.  Cap'n  Strabo  Pratt  had  lived  there, 
and  led  the  opposition  to  the  town  division 
which  the  radicals  in  both  villages  sought  to 
bring  about.  He  held  that  such  business  was 
all  folderol,  a  plan  hatched  by  politicians  to 
multiply  offices.  As  it  stood,  Bradford  was 
just  big  enough  and  just  small  enough  for  de- 
cent folk  to  live  in.  Fish  caught  by  men  of  your 
(83) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


own  town  were  the  fish  for  Bradf ordites  to  eat ; 
nor  were  the  schooners  that  put  out  from  South 
Bay  more  likely  to  wet  their  salt  if  manned  by 
town  councillors  than  by  seamen  who  left  poli- 
tics to  their  betters.  Moreover,  there  was  nothing 
to  prevent  a  fisherman  from  playing  politics  now 
save  a  proper  understanding  of  the  relative 
social  value  of  fish  and  deep-sea  cargoes.  Yet 
Strabo  bore  all  the  earmarks  of  a  genial  demo- 
cracy, and  the  radical  leader  was  a  patrician 
whose  instincts  upheld  established  order. 

Parson  Warren  lived  across  the  street  in  the 
old  square  house,  where  the  trim  walks  bordered 
by  perennials  were  no  more  precise  than  the 
alignment  of  his  mind.  Fresh  from  Oxford 
and  Italy,  he  had  come  to  Bradford  in  his  fra- 
gile youth,  and  had  grown  into  vigorous  age 
under  such  easy  harness  as  he  found  there. 
He  wrote  his  two  sermons  a  week  on  classic 
lines,  and,  as  the  years  passed,  became  more 
explicit  in  regard  to  the  probable  future  of 
erring  Bradf  ordites.  But  all  the  venom  of  his 
nature  went  to  rhetoric  ;  and  tradition  carried 
a  benignant  picture  of  the  old  man,  in  gown 
(84) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  bands,  his  fine  old  face  glowing  with  love 
and  high  resolve,  —  save  them  he  would,  — 
while  his  vigorous  old  arm  pounded  out  damn- 
ation for  ah1  sinners.  He  dealt  out  red-hot  doc- 
trine, and  was  answered  from  the  pews  with 
the  militant  hymns  of  Isaac  Watts. 

"  Backward  with  humble  shame  we  look 
On  our  original,"  — 

confessed  his  penitents.  But  when  the  last 
stanza  brought  out  the  reserves  of  hope  :  — 

"  The  second  Adam  shall  restore 
The  ruins  of  the  first  : 
Hosanna  to  that  sovereign  Power 
That  new-creates  our  dust  !  "  — 

the  fishes  in  the  bay  might  have  stood  on  their 
little  tails  with  wonder  at  such  roaring  mercies. 
The  men  sang  because  they  liked  to  open  their 
mouths  and  make  a  noise,  and  wives  and  sweet- 
hearts had  to  pipe  their  best  to  carry  treble 
when  lungs  inured  to  battling  against  reef- 
tops'l  gales  let  out  their  mightiest. 

The  parson  and  Cap'n  Pratt  carried  their 
public  difference  to  the  unchristian  limit  of 
a  private  feud.  "  High  Bradford  "  was  set  off 
(85) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


in  aristocratic  seclusion,  and  Strabo  Pratt  was 
not  the  man  to  weaken  because  he  was  de- 
feated; nor  could  the  parson's  high  spirit 
brook  Strabo's  ostentatious  and  humorous 
compliance  with  the  new  order.  Cap'n  Pratt 
performed  his  political  and  churchly  duties : 
he  served  as  selectman  of  the  new  township 
as  he  had  of  the  old ;  he  went  to  meeting 
twice  on  the  Sunday,  and  once  he  was  re- 
warded by  a  short  triumph  when  Daniel  v 
was  the  lesson  of  the  day.  " '  Tekel ;  Thou  art 
weighed  in  the  balances  and  art  found  want- 
ing/ "  rolled  out  the  parson's  sonorous  voice. 
"  *  Peres ;  Thy  kingdom  is  divided,  and  given 
to  the  Medes  and  Persians.'  "  Strabo  made  the 
little  girl  in  mitts  and  coal-scuttle  bonnet  who 
sat  across  the  aisle  hop  with  horror  at  his 
hardly  suppressed  snort ;  and  he  looked  de- 
fiantly at  Sabrina  Pratt,  as  who  should  say : 
"  There  you  have  it.  Cut  'em  up  is  a  sure 
sign  of  the  end." 

Strabo  would  allow  nothing  better  than  an 
armed   neutrality,   until   one  day  Love  out- 
manoeuvred   him,    and    Joel    Pratt    married 
(86) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


beautiful  Elizabeth  Warren,  the  light  of  her 
grandfather's  eyes.  Joel  was  a  crony  of  Elka- 
nah  Clark's;  in  a  hard  season,  when  they  were 
youngsters  of  twelve  and  fourteen,  they  had 
run  away  to  the  nearest  seaport  to  find  a 
berth,  and  had  done  it,  too,  and  written  back 
to  their  elder  brothers  who  had  failed :  "  Come 
up,  and  we  will  find  you  a  job,  rather  than 
that  you  should  be  at  home  on  expense  all 
winter."  And  Joel  married  Elizabeth  Warren 
and  became  a  great  merchant ;  and  they  lived 
in  the  finest  of  city  houses,  and  baby  fingers 
drew  together  the  warring  old  neighbors  at 
Bradford.  And  before  many  years  the  War- 
ren house  passed  into  alien  hands,  and  two 
Pratt  spinsters,  daughters  of  Strabo,  lived 
across  the  way ;  and  they,  too,  followed  the 
path  of  their  fathers ;  but  first,  as  if  to  wipe 
from  the  slate  all  traces  of  the  old  feud,  they 
bequeathed  their  house  to  the  parish  for  a 
parsonage. 

When  James  Bristed  came  to  Bradford,  the 
old  people  said  he  showed  more  promise  than 
any  man  since  Parson  Warren's  day,  although 
(87) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


he  told  them  of  eternal  hope  by  a  new  reading 
of  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints,  and 
assured  them  that  the  Gospel  would  "  make 
men  holy  that  they  may  be  happy."  The  grim 
tenets  of  Parson  Warren  and  his  successors 
were  melting  into  a  gentle,  pious  liberalism,  and 
when  men  prayed  for  the  final  good  that  should 
come  to  them  through  the  Lamb  of  God,  they 
knew  that  such  reward  was  sure.  James  Bristed, 
some  thought,  was  but  too  ready  to  disregard 
the  swish  of  reminder  in  the  last  clause  of 
their  creed  which  affirmed  "  the  sanctions  of  a 
future  state  of  retribution  "  ;  but  he  held  that 
one  lifetime  would  be  too  short  in  which  to 
preach  the  great  messages  of  his  faith :  that 
all  men  should  come  to  ultimate  salvation; 
that  obedience  was  the  rule  of  life ;  that  God 
was  the  God  of  Love,  and  Jesus  the  great 
Elder  Brother  who  wept  for  the  sufferers  on 
the  narrow  way  to  life  everlasting. 

He  moved  into  the  old  Pratt  house  with  his 
gentle  little  mother,  who  made  no  great  impres- 
sion on  lusty,  stirring  Bradford.  She  looked  as 
frail  as  the  delicate  old  lace  that  capped  her 
(88) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


nodding  white  curls;  and  when  the  ladies  paid 
their  calls  of  ceremony,  she  deprecated  the  ill- 
health  which  prevented  the  return  of  their 
civility.  Another  scion  of  the  house  of  Con- 
nelly helped  her  in  the  kitchen  ;  but  her  son's 
favorite  dishes  she  prepared  with  her  own 
exquisite  hands :  for  he  was  the  beginning 
and  ending  of  her  days,  and  in  her  petitions 
was  included  a  prayer  against  the  danger  of 
idolatrous  earthly  affection,  lest  her  son  should 
usurp  the  place  in  her  heart  that  belonged  to 
God. 

James  went  freely  about  his  parish,  and  was 
gay,  as  far  as  gayety  became  a  minister,  with 
the  young  people,  while  he  won  the  old  with 
his  deferential  sympathy.  The  young  men  re- 
spected and  liked  him.  "  He  's  the  sort  of  sky- 
pilot  who  knows  when  to  steer  slow  among 
the  reefs,  and  when  there's  free  sailing  in 
deep  water,"  Scotto  Clark  had  said.  The  girls 
looked  at  him  shyly  from  under  their  big  bon- 
nets, or  sat  with  eyes  downcast  when  he  made 
his  first  family  visitation ;  but  although  he 
knew  how  to  maintain  his  dignity,  he  was  not 
(89) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


above  returning  a  furtive  shaft  from  maiden 
eyes  with  a  flash  of  mirth  for  such  portentous 
solemnity.  He  had  singled  out  no  one  of  them 
for  "particular  attention,"  it  was  remarked ; 
but  every  mother's  daughter  of  them  knew 
him  for  a  desirable  young  man. 

To  his  people  he  presented  an  unruffled 
front,  and  his  perplexities  and  vexations  he 
was  wont  to  take  a-fishing.  By  a  secret  path 
through  fields  and  woods  behind  the  parson- 
age lay  a  pond  where  bass  were  plenty ;  and  on 
many  a  morning  when  his  parishioners  thought 
him  bending  over  his  Sunday  sermons,  he  was 
out  there  in  his  boat.  On  such  days  he  tucked 
some  worn  book  into  his  pocket,  —  Izaak  Wal- 
ton, for  a  choice,  who  had  recorded  the  eternal 
profit  to  be  had  from  fishing,  for  the  joy  of  all 
fishermen  who  should  follow  him ;  and  as  he 
drifted  with  the  breeze  from  the  piney  bank, 
he  cast  a  line  or  turned  a  page  he  loved,  and 
all  the  world  once  more  became  tranquillity. 

Perhaps  Asenath  Snow  had  leaned  some- 
what too  heavily  on  the  prerogative  of  her 
thirty-five  years  when  she  evinced  an  especial 
(90) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


care  for  the  ordering  of  his  days  ;  and  she 
was  the  basic  cause  of  more  than  one  dish  of 
black  bass  on  the  parsonage  table.  For  al- 
though he  recognized  the  value  of  her  clear 
sight,  he  accepted  her  direction  with  some  re- 
serve when  it  threatened  to  trench  upon  his 
liberty,  and  proposed  to  hold  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernance in  his  own  masculine  hands. 

Asenath  had  distilled  a  drop  of  wisdom 
from  previous  commotion,  and  in  the  matter 
of  the  new  library,  at  least,  although  she  pro- 
posed to  keep  a  finger  on  the  helm,  she  was 
setting  up  Caroline  Sears  as  captain.  The 
empty  room  at  the  left  of  the  Bristed  front 
door,  which  had  been  the  repository  of  Sabrina 
Pratt' s  best  furnishings  and  her  daughters' 
after  her,  was,  Asenath  knew,  the  predestined 
home  of  the  Bradford  Lending  Library ;  yet, 
as  became  a  maiden,  she  held  to  the  back 
waters,  and  sent  forth  Mrs.  Sears  to  hail  the 
Bristeds.  She  knew  that  Caroline's  unpractical 
tongue  was  sure  to  befog  the  whole  enterprise, 
but  were  as  useful  as  another  to  indicate  that 
such  enterprise  there  was,  when  the  clear  sun 
(91) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


of  her  own  reasoning  should  disclose  the 
scheme  compact  as  she  had  devised  it. 

Caroline  had  found  both  the  Bristeds  at 
home,  and  was  sipping  a  glass  of  sangaree 
while  she  skirted  the  edge  of  her  mission. 

"  So  many  new  books  are  coming  from  the 
press,  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Bristed,  some 
standard  of  good  reading  should  be  set  in 
every  community?" 

"  Possibly,"  he  answered.  "  But  who  shall 
set  such  a  standard?" 

"  If  there  could  be  some  room  open  to  the 
public,  some  library  where  only  the  best  lit- 
erature could  be  had  for  a  moderate  fee.  In 
a  small  way,  my  little  classes  in  science  and 
belles-lettres  practise  such  an  idea.  None  of 
us  has  all  the  books  we  use,  but  each  his  spe- 
cial books,  and  then  we  exchange.  It  has  led 
us  to  believe  that  a  whole  town  might  be 
benefited  by  some  such  device.  I  have  not 
worked  it  out ;  but  Asenath  thinks  —  "  Mrs. 
Caroline  paused,  and  James  Bristed  watched 
her  amiable  meandering  with  amused  eyes. 
"Asenath  — "  But  Asenath  had  said  her 
(92) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


name  was  not  to  come  into  this  first  inter- 
view, and  Mrs.  Sears  interrupted  herself  with 
a  ladylike  cough  and  placed  her  empty  glass 
on  the  light-stand  at  her  elbow.  "  There  are 
your  dear  sister's  books.  If  a  room,  an  empty 
room,  could  be  obtained,  those  might  form  the 
nucleus  of  a  library,  and  perhaps  the  ladies  of 
the  Lyceum  would  further  the  project." 

James  caught  the  beam  of  Asenath's  efful- 
gent wit. 

"An  empty  room.  I  see.  Mother,  how 
about  our  empty  front  room?" 

"Oh,  James,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know!" 
chirped  she.  Her  white  curls  danced  beneath 
her  cap  with  the  agitation  of  such  a  thought. 
It  had  been  her  secret  ambition  to  furnish 
that  room  as  "best,"  the  seal  of  its  aloofness 
to  be  broken  only  by  some  supreme  function, 
—  her  own  burial  service  or  James's  marriage. 
"  I  don't  know,  James.  There  would  be  muddy 
feet." 

"  Dear  little  mother,"  —  when  James  took 
that  tone  she  saw  the  way  to  her  own  undoing, 
— "  dear  little  mother,  there  are  no  muddy  feet 
(93) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


in  Bradford.  I  think  Mrs.  Sears  has  a  good 
idea  which  may  be  worked  out  to  a  useful 
end,  and  we  must  help.  There  is  our  empty 
room,  —  two  rooms,  —  for  that  large  pantry 
could  be  used  for  storage." 

Mrs.  Bristed  folded  her  wings,  and  settled 
down  on  the  perch  of  resignation.  But  she 
could  not  restrain  a  sigh  for  her  shattered  dream, 
as  James  led  the  way  across  the  hall  to  show 
Mrs.  Sears  the  room  which  she  had  always  seen 
in  the  full  panoply  of  haircloth  and  wax  flowers. 

"  Asenath  thinks —  "  began  Caroline  again. 

"  So  Miss  Snow  approves,  does  she?  "  asked 
James. 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  we  think  it  might  be  profit- 
able to  give  some  little  social  affairs  —  " 

"To  raise  money?" 

"  Yes.  Asenath  says  —  " 

"  You  and  Miss  Snow  evidently  have  some 
valuable  ideas  about  the  project.  Now,  why 
not  call  a  meeting  of  the  ladies  here  for  Tues- 
day week,  and  map  out  your  plans?  Here  are 
the  rooms,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  help  you." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  we  —  " 
(94) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Yes,  I  see.  We  will  talk  it  all  over  Tues- 
day week." 

They  shook  hands  cordially,  and  James 
chuckled  as  he  watched  Caroline's  tall  figure 
get  under  way.  She  always  moved  like  a  ship 
that  imperfectly  answers  its  helm,  and  now 
she  yawed  a  little  to  the  left  as  an  oriole  in 
the  sycamore  caught  her  eye ;  but  she  safely 
made  the  gate  where  the  great  elms,  which 
had  been  named  irreverently  Nabby  and  Be- 
thiah  after  Strabo  Pratt's  maiden  daughters, 
stood  guard,  and,  amid  billowing  silk  and 
streaming  pennants  of  scarf  and  ribbon,  went 
floating  off  to  her  next  port. 

"  Dear  little  mother,"  said  James  again,  as 
he  bent  over  the  round  figure  at  the  sewing- 
table,  "do  you  really  mind?  And  anyway 
we  are  helpless,  for  Asenath  Snow  had  planned 
it  all." 


VIII 

CAROLINE  CLARK  had  been  a  slender, 
dewy  girl,  with  soft  dark  eyes  and  fair 
curls  clustering  about  her  oval  face,  the  beauty 
of  her  exquisite  shoulders  and  waist  revealed  by 
the  scantily  fashioned  dress  of  her  youth.  She 
had  married  young,  as  is  the  way  of  a  maid 
like  her,  and  no  one  had  remarked  her  seeking 
brain  for  the  loveliness  of  its  housing.  Richard 
Sears  had  built  a  nest  for  his  bride  in  the  old 
Seabury  house  where  her  grandparents  had 
lived.  There  the  pine  woods,  with  their  spicy 
gifts,  crept  up  from  the  dunes  of  the  beach, 
(96) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  a  gorgeous  trumpet  vine,  like  some  mar- 
vel of  the  East,  flung  its  richness  across  the 
low  roof  and  drooped  over  the  trellised  porch 
near  the  road.  A  month's  short  bliss,  while 
his  ship  was  loading,  and  then  they  closed  the 
honeymoon  cottage  and  Caroline  went  back  to 
her  old  home,  and  Richard  sailed  away  to  win 
new  fortune  for  his  bride.  London  and  Alicante 
were  in  his  journey,  which,  alas  !  should  end 
in  no  lovers'  meeting,  for  that  October  a  great 
storm  swept  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  widowed 
women  wept  from  Quimper  to  Bayonne,  while 
in  far-off  America  Caroline  Sears  waited  and 
hoped  and  despaired. 

Hour  by  hour  her  mother  lived  through 
the  days  with  her,  and  her  father  bound  them 
both  in  the  warm  circle  of  his  love.  And  as 
the  months  passed,  anguish  walked  with  ex- 
pectancy toward  a  future  that  stood  with  fin- 
ger on  lip  and  the  promise  of  sweet  argosy 
in  her  brooding  eyes.  Spring  came,  with  lilacs 
blooming  under  east  windows  and  the  brook 
tinkling  through  the  greenness  of  the  lower 
garden,  and  Caroline  had  exchanged  all  her 
(97) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


bride's  hopes  for  the  grace  of  motherhood. 
But  her  thoughts  went  ranging  beyond  the 
little  creature  at  her  side ;  and  as  she  lay  in 
her  canopied  bed  she  watched  the  sun  rise 
above  the  willows  and  listened  to  the  birds 
practising  their  mating-tunes.  The  rosy  light 
filled  the  room  and  all  the  world  without, 
and  in  the  great  mirror  over  her  dresser  she 
could  trace  the  reflection  of  green  fields  and 
groves,  and  the  blue  waters  beyond  whose 
ruthless  arm  had  torn  away  all  the  joy  of 
her  life.  The  mother's  sorrow  was  echoed  in 
the  cadence  of  her  daughter's  name:  Rachel, 
she  should  be ;  saddest  of  words,  yet  with  a 
liquid  note  of  hope.  And  that  hope  outsang 
the  sorrow,  for  Rachel  came  to  be  not  only  a 
new  and  dearer  child  to  Elkanah  and  Mary, 
but  like  an  elder  sister,  a  mother,  rather,  to 
her  shy  young  mother, —  a  wise,  reasonable 
child,  who  could  companion  any  age,  and  yet 
superintend  her  own  small  affairs  with  the  due 
secrecy  of  childhood. 

Caroline  never  could  be  done  with  wonder 
at  such  a  complete  small  person,  and  her  flex- 
(98) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


ile  nature,  planned  rather  for  the  cherishings 
of  love  than  for  its  cares,  bloomed  in  the 
tender  atmosphere  of  devotion.  Then  her 
brain  waked  up  from  its  dreams,  and  with  no 
strong  maternal  instinct  to  bind  her,  the  active 
mind  turned  hither  and  thither  to  pick  up  the 
crumbs  of  such  learning  as  fell  in  its  path. 
She  sketched;  she  sang  sweet  old  melodies 
to  the  tinkle  of  their  new-fangled  piano;  she 
studied  French  and  Latin  with  the  academy 
master,  a  young  collegian  spilling  over  with 
knowledge ;  she  organized  all  sorts  of  pretty 
classes  for  the  village  girls.  But  she  had  the 
art  to  awaken  a  desire  for  learning  rather  than 
the  ability  to  knit  up  the  frayed  ends  of  her 
endeavor;  and  here  Asenath  Snow,  with  her 
executive  touch,  furnished  the  pattern  for 
scattering  fancies. 

Together  the  two  women  had  made  of  stay- 
at-home  Bradford  an  aristocracy  of  elegant 
pursuits ;  and  while  it  was  not  infrequently 
the  case  that  the  men  spoke  a  homely  argot 
contrasting  with  the  mincing  speech  of  their 
wives,  —  most  of  them  had  finished  their 
(99) 


OOVINA.  CA 
HIGH  BRADFORD 


schooling  at  fourteen,  —  these  bluff  seafarers 
let  in  the  winds  of  the  world  on  the  little  close 
to  sweep  cobwebs  away  and  keep  all  "  ship- 
shape and  Bristol-fashion."  They  smiled  in- 
dulgently, and  even  with  some  pride,  at  the 
ideas  of  their  womenfolk,  but  they  knew  a 
thing  or  two  themselves  beyond  the  scope  of 
such  embroideries. 

As  Rachel  grew  to  womanhood,  she  evinced 
more  of  the  seaworthy  qualities  of  firm  judg- 
ment and  a  grasp  of  essentials  than  of  the 
ornamental  sensibilities  of  a  girl.  She  had  de- 
veloped into  a  famous  housekeeper  after  her 
grandmother  died ;  she  could  manage  Azubah 
by  the  nice  turn  of  a  finger,  give  little  Mike 
Connelly  a  push  on  the  path  of  duty,  and  then 
talk  crops  with  her  grandfather,  and  set  straight 
her  mother's  museum  of  outlandish  shells  and 
stuffed  birds.  At  home  she  was  housewife  and 
mother  and  comrade ;  but  when  it  came  to  a 
long  horseback  jaunt  with  her  mates,  or  an 
early  supper  in  the  woods  on  some  night  when 
the  great  moon  rolled  up  in  the  east  and  flung 
its  splendid  silver  down  on  pond  and  winding 
(100) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


road,  she  and  Polly  could  give  any  of  the 
merry  company  a  hint  in  new  ways  of  fun, 
and  no  girl  in  Bradford  loved  finery  better 
than  the  staid  housewife  Rachel. 

Mary  Tilt  sewed  at  the  Clark  house  two 
weeks  spring  and  autumn ;  and  Rachel  evolved 
wonderful  costumes,  after  the  colored  prints 
in  "  Godey,"  somewhat  tempered  by  her  own 
fancy,  from  the  silks  and  fairy  gauzes  and  soft 
wools  which  the  ships  of  city  uncles  brought 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe.  Mary 
Tilt's  nimble  fingers  flew  among  the  welter  of 
pretty  things,  while  her  taste  but  half  approved 
the  outcome. 

"Dear  suz,  Rachel  Sears  she  thinks  hard 
about  her  clo'es  and  then  has  done.  An'  she 's 
rich,  but  plain.  Now,  if  she  'd  have  more  o* 
that  new  trimmin',  say ;  but  that  would  n't  be 
Rachel.  An'  she  does  look  pretty  as  a  shell 
when  she 's  all  turned  out." 

Caroline  wore  what  her  daughter  appointed, 

with  no  clear  notion  of  the  means  to  a  result 

which  her  poetic  fancy  approved  :  for  Rachel 

chose  the  colors  and  garments  that  best  suited 

(101) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


her  mother's  slender  distinction,  and  saw  to 
it  that  the  mantilla  fell  not  too  negligently 
from  sloping  shoulders,  and  tied  the  leghorn 
under  her  round  chin  in  a  firm  bow. 

With  her  habit  of  mothering,  it  was  but 
natural  that  she  should  have  had  an  especial 
care  over  her  harumscarum  cousin,  Scotto 
Clark,  from  his  first  day  at  the  old  farm,  when 
he  fell  into  one  of  his  grandfather's  salt  vats 
and  emerged  looking  like  a  handful  of  Azu- 
bah's  sugared  simballs,  to  the  later  time  when 
he  must  answer  the  call  of  any  pretty  face, 
but  always  came  back  to  Rachel  with  the 
instinct  of  a  homesick  child. 

"  There  are  girls  and  girls,"  he  used  to  say. 
"  But  you  are  Rachel.  Never  let  me  go,  dear 
coz."  ' 

She  did  not  have  the  eyes  to  see  such  self- 
ishness in  all  its  brutal  truth;  and  from  the 
intimacy  of  boy  and  girl,  they  had  come  into 
the  glamour  where  youth  wakes  and  loves.  All 
the  passionate  loyalty  of  Rachel's  heart  guarded 
him  the  closer  as  some  foolish  escapade  of  his 
came  to  light,  and  he  knew  always  that  the 
(102) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


best  in  him  sought  her.  In  this  last  year  some 
rumor  of  John  Dillingham's  devotion  had 
alarmed  his  comfortable  possessive  view  of  Ra- 
chel ;  and  he  turned  from  Polly's  laughing  eyes 
to  secure  a  definite  promise  from  her.  For 
•while  he  was  sailing  away,  John  would  be  sail- 
ing home ;  and  John,  with  a  calm  power  of 
holding  to  the  one  thing  he  meant  to  have, 
had  worsted  him  before. 

Rachel,  as  we  know,  said  yes,  for  she  loved 
him  with  a  passion  of  tenderness  that  knew 
the  real  creature  in  that  careless  tenement,  — 
a  man  brave  and  gentle  and  loving,  who  saw 
good  with  the  clear  vision  of  a  woman,  yet 
was  marred  by  some  deep  flaw  that  might 
shatter  all  the  bright  promise  of  his  nature. 
She  believed  that  she  was  his  mate  :  she  lacked 
where  he  shone,  his  weakness  was  her  strength. 
And  as  sometimes  happens,  the  mother  in  her 
had  betrayed  the  woman,  and  she  had  pro- 
mised to  marry  Scotto  when  he  returned  from 
Germany.  John  Dillingham  had  come  too 
late,  and,  ignoring  the  pang  in  his  heart,  had 
talked  to  Polly,  and  was  off  again  to  Antwerp. 
(103) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


But  his  father  and  Mercy  Dillinghain  and 
old  Madam  Desire  and  Cap'n  Elkanah  were 
cheated  of  a  dream  that  had  been  born  with 
the  two  children  whom  they  had  fancied  as 
born  for  each  other. 

"  I  tell  you,  mother,"  said  Cap'n  Edward 
to  Mercy,  "  I  've  set  my  heart  on  that  match 
ever  since  that  boy  was  no  bigger  than  a 
sprits'l-sheet  knot,  and  here  he 's  gone  hum- 
bugging about,  while  Scot's  up  keeleg  and 
off  with  the  girl  like  Bob's  horse  and  nobody 
to  pay  the  reckoning." 

"  I  hope  nobody  wiU  have  to  pay  it,"  said 
Mercy,  overlooking  her  husband's  excited  met- 
aphor, —  "  not  Rachel,  anyway." 

Perhaps  Cap'n  Elkanah  was  more  disturbed 
than  any  of  them.  He  had  a  deep  distrust  of 
Scotto's  possibilities,  and  Rachel  was  the  very 
core  of  his  heart.  John,  with  his  quiet,  assured 
deference,  was  the  well-beloved  son  of  his 
old  age,  the  type  and  flower  of  manhood,  he 
thought,  to  whom,  above  all  others,  he  would 
have  entrusted  his  treasure. 

"  Desire,  I  'd  like  to  have  seen  those  two 
(104) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


children  married  and  happy  before  I  pass  over," 
said  he  one  bright  August  morning,  when  his 
old  friend  was  showing  him  her  bed  of  day- 
lilies.  "  I  'd  planned  to  give  'em  the  old  Sea- 
bury  house  Caroline  was  to  have  lived  in. 
Seem 's  if  it  was  destined  no  bride  should  be 
happy  there  again.  And  then,  when  we  'd  all 
gone,  and  John  had  left  the  sea,  he  could 
have  farmed  it  over  the  three  places,  Seabury 
and  Clark  and  Dillingham,  and  children  and 
grandchildren  would  have  grown  up  about 
'em,  and  the  old  homes  would  have  been  filled 
with  fresh  life.  I  'd  like  to  think  we  were  at 
the  source  of  such  happiness,  Desire,  and  the 
old  blood  renewed  and  running  on  in  the  old 
places.  Scotto  's  my  own,  and  yet,  —  well,  it  'a 
all  in  God's  hands." 

"  And  there  we  must  leave  it,  Elkanah." 
But  Caroline,  seeing  nothing  of  the  cur- 
rents about  her,  fared  daintily  over  on  the 
pretty  footbridge  of  her  preoccupations.    She 
had  a  new  class  in  conchology  and  ancient 
history,  the  library  was  under  way  and  must 
be  fetched  into  midstream  by  a  poke  here 
(105) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  a  pull  there ;  Rachel  and  Polly  should  be 
seeing  to  fairs  and  concerts  to  pay  for  books ; 
and  Rachel  was  engaged  to  marry  Scotto, 
as  was  fitting  and  proper,  and  would  spend 
her  winters  in  the  city  and  bring  new  culture 
and  elegance  to  the  old  home  every  summer. 
She  would  some  day  give  her  museum  to  Ra- 
chel's children,  and  Azubah  would  run  the 
Bradford  home  under  her  own  supervision,  as 
had  always  been  the  case. 


IX 

ON  a  clear  August  evening,  John  Dill- 
ingham  was  striding  along  the  Quai 
Jordaens  at  Antwerp.  Behind  him  were  the 
docks  which  Napoleon  had  built  when  he 
promised  himself  that  Antwerp  should  be  as 
"a  loaded  pistol  that  I  hold  at  England's 
breast."  John  walked  as  far  as  the  old  water- 
gate,  and  then  back  to  the  Quai,  and  up 
and  down  beneath  its  stiff  little  row  of  trees. 
Ten  years  before,  Antwerp  had  given  him  his 
first  glimpse  of  the  Old  World  of  his  boyish 
dreams,  and  he  loved  the  place  as  we  do  love 
(107) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


what  assures  us  that  dreams  come  true.  Since 
then  he  had  sailed  over  most  of  the  waters  of 
the  earth  and  had  visited  many  of  its  shores, 
but  he  found  that  the  wise  old  city  held  its 
charm  for  him.  Not  that  he  speculated  over- 
much as  to  reasons,  and,  indeed,  was  now 
grinning  broadly  as  he  recalled  his  first  morn- 
ing on  shore,  when,  a  little  shaver  of  fifteen, 
he  had  eluded  the  watchful  eye  of  Beriah 
Pratt,  his  captain,  and  dived  into  the  first  nar- 
row street  on  adventure  bent.  A  very  hot  and 
dusty  little  boy  had  crept  back  to  the  ship  in 
the  late  afternoon. 

"  Where  you  been,  young  snipe  ? "  de- 
manded Beriah. 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  Down  some  little  streets 
and  alleys,  —  rue  des  Chats,  or  something 
like  that,  one  of  'em  was." 

John  pronounced  the  name  painfully,  with 
a  due  regard  to  its  letters. 

"  Cat  Alley,  is  it  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  young 

sir,  that  them  fellers  down  there  are  like  as 

not  to  boil  you  alive  and  sell  your  clo'es  to 

pay  for  the  fuel.  Next  time  you  go  cruisin'  to 

(108) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


see  what  you  can  see,  you  better  take  me 
along." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  John  meekly. 

But  not  for  a  week's  decorous  sight-seeing 
with  Cap'n  Beriah  would  he  have  exchanged 
the  memory  of  that  delirious  day  among  the 
ill-favored,  kindly  Flamands,  who  had  crowded 
him  rather  closely,  but  had  laughed  at  the  lit- 
tle sailor  tricks  which  he  had  displayed  for 
their  admiration  and  shared  their  luncheon 
with  him.  It  was  later  he  discovered  that  they 
had  filched  all  the  available  spending  money 
he  carried  in  the  wallet  his  mother  had  given 
him. 

Then  Antwerp  was  all  but  prostrate  after 
two  centuries  of  the  varying  fortunes  of  war, 
—  Spain  and  Holland  and  France  each  had 
had  a  hand  in  that  rich  pocket;  but  she  had 
shaken  them  all  off,  and  in  these  ten  years 
had  gone  far  on  her  way  to  become  the  Dives 
Antwerpia  of  the  old  days. 

John  walked  up  and  down  the  Quai,  and  as 
he  walked  his  mind  ran  out  into  the  future. 
"  Work,  work :  that 's  what  I  've  got  to  do  ; 
(109) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and,  by  the  Lord,  I  '11  do  it."  He  barely 
brushed  Bradford  memories  in  passing,  and 
was  off  again  on  the  road  he  meant  to  travel. 
To-morrow  he  sailed  for  Boston ;  he  had  dis- 
charged his  cargo,  and  was  to  take  the  Sally 
home  in  ballast.  Then  he  had  the  promise  of 
another  ship,  and  would  be  off  again  for  the 
East,  for  the  West,  —  who  cared,  so  long  as 
there  was  work  and  more  work?  He  calcul- 
ated to  be  out  of  the  river  and  well  up  on 
his  way  to  the  "  north-about "  by  sunset  next 
day,  and  before  he  went  aboard,  he  turned 
to  look  once  more  at  the  city.  The  exquisite 
tower  of  the  cathedral,  as  if  a-tiptoe  for  a  last 
glimpse  of  the  day,  sprang  above  the  serrated 
outline  of  roofs,  and  slowly  the  great  chimes 
began  to  spell  out  their  lesson,  and  then  filled 
the  whole  world  with  their  mellow  farewell. 
As  they  ceased,  John's  eye  fell  on  a  man  who 
was  sauntering  along  the  edge  of  the  Quai. 

"Hullo.  Where  away,  Scot?"   he   called. 
"Thought  you  were  in  Hamburg." 

"Well,  I'm  not,"  remarked  Scotto,  as  the 
two  shook  hands. 

(110) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Business  finished  ?  "  asked  John. 

"  Pretty  near,"  returned  Scot.  "  I  've  been 
picking  up  some  odds  and  ends."  He  seemed 
none  too  glad  to  see  John,  and  after  their 
greeting  swung  away  to  look  at  a  ship  that 
was  bumping  in  the  dock.  "  That  the  Sally  ? 
How 'd  she  go?" 

"  Oh,  fair ;  but  she 's  no  clipper.  You  never 
can  tell  till  you  get  the  canvas  on  'em.  I 
thought  she  would  be  a  fast  one.  Come  on 
board?" 

"No.  I'm  off  to  meet  a  man.  All  well  at 
home  when  you  left?" 

"  Yes,  everything  as  usual.  Asenath  Snow 
cock  of  the  walk,  and  Polly  pretty  'n  ever." 

"Taking  your  turn  at  being  smitten?" 

There  was  a  rasping  note  in  Scot's  laugh. 

"  No,  I  'm  not.  But  I  hope  I  Ve  got  the 
gumption  to  know  a  lovely  little  woman  when 
I  see  one." 

"  Wish  I  did  n't  have  so  much  gumption," 
remarked  Scot  with  some  point. 

"Why  don't  you  finish  up  your  business 
and  come  home  with  me?  "  asked  John  sud- 
(111) 


HIGH    BRADFORD 


denly.  "  I  planned  to  be  off  to-morrow,  but  I 
could  wait  a  day  or  two." 

"  Tbank  you,  old  man,  but  I  can't." 

"  Look  here,  Scot,"  said  John,  laying  a 
heavy  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder,  "  what 
you  got  on  your  mind?" 

"  Mind  ?  Nothing  on  my  mind.  Only  hope 
I  can  settle  up  this  infernal  job." 

"  You  're  going  home  soon  ?  I  '11  tell  'em 
that?" 

"  Of  course  I  'm  going.  Why  under  heavens 
should  n't  I  be  going  ?  " 

"No  reason.  Somehow  you  don't  look  to 
me  's  if  you  were  going." 

"Oh,  I'm  going.  You  can  tell  'em  that 
safe  enough."  Scot  laughed  like  the  boy  he  was 
and  gave  John  an  affectionate  shove.  "  Now 
don't  stand  there  like  a  bump  on  a  log,  a  good, 
pious  bump,  old  John.  Go  back  to  your  ship, 
and  I'll  be  on  my  way.  And  I  may  run  up  to 
Amsterdam  to  have  a  look  around  before  I 
sail,  and  I  may  be  off  next  week  with  James 
Howes." 

"  Good  idea,"  said  John.  "His  mate 's  broke 
(112) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


his  leg,  and  he 's  looking  for  an  extra 
man." 

"  Well,  bye-bye.  Tell  the  Bradford  people, 
tell 'em— " 

"  If  you  go  with  James  Howes,  like  enough 
you  '11  be  telling  them  that  I  'm  on  the  way. 
He  can  beat  the  Sally  over  and  back  again." 

John  watched  the  light  figure  swinging  off 
through  the  dusk. 

"  Queer  Dick ! "  commented  he.  "  He 's  got 
one  of  his  wandering  fits  or  I  miss  my  guess. 
I  'd  like  to  do  some  kidnapping  and  get  him 
home  somehow." 

John  sat  in  his  cabin,  smoking,  far  into  the 
night.  It  was  his  way  to  take  things  as  he  found 
them,  and  then  get  the  best  possible  out  of 
the  material  in  hand :  wherefore  he  was  a  gen- 
tler judge  of  Scotto's  vagaries  than  a  weaker 
man  would  have  been.  There  was  no  vice  in 
Scot :  that  he  knew.  Had  there  been,  he  could 
not  have  acquiesced  in  the  fate  that  had  turned 
Rachel  to  him.  But  Scot's  recurring  restless- 
ness was  like  a  fury  driving  him  from  all  paths 
of  quietude  :  one  moment  he  was  as  other  men, 
(113) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


•with  perhaps  a  keener  mind  and  a  firmer  grasp 
of  a  given  situation  than  most ;  and  then,  sud- 
denly, that  ended,  he  must  up  anchor  and  be 
off  to  strange  adventure.  If  another  sought 
to  lay  his  will  upon  him,  escape  he  would  at 
any  cost;  and  when  one  said  to  him  "You 
must,"  that  thing  in  particular  he  could  never 
do.  Especially  had  he  always  rebelled  at  the 
strong  hand  of  circumstance :  that  which  in 
the  nature  of  things  should  be  done  was  enough 
to  send  him  flying  to  the  antipodes.  And 
to-night  John  was  uneasy  because  of  a  deep- 
seated  distrust  not  admitted  even  to  himself. 
As  the  time  drew  near  for  Scot's  return  to 
Rachel,  was  he  veering  off  from  even  such 
sweet  bonds  as  she  would  offer  him  ? 

Rachel!  John's  thoughts  went  wandering 
on  a  flowery  path.  Rachel :  but  not  for  him. 
"If  Scot  breaks  her  heart  with  his  careering 
over  the  world,  I'll  have  a  fall  out  of  him 
wherever  he  goes.  Perhaps  he  loves  her  as 
well  as  he  knows  how.  He  was  n't  properly 
broke  :  too  many  trainers  and  all  of  'em  too 
easy.  He 's  bamboozled  everybody  since  the 
(114) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


day  he  was  born,  and  he  counts  on  bambooz- 
ling 'em  to  the  end."  Once  more  John  rounded 
the  circle  of  Scot's  delinquencies  and  charm :  a 
ne'er-do-weel  who  was  no  rake,  a  yielding  crea- 
ture who  was  adamant  in  his  selfish  will,  an 
affectionate  and  winsome  child  likely  to  work 
havoc  among  the  greater  emotions.  "Poor 
Ray!  poor  little  Ray!  "sighed  John.  "But 
she  may  know  him  better  than  any  of  us ;  at 
any  rate,  she  '11  give  him  a  loose  rein."  And 
the  thought  of  his  peerless  lady  forced  to  the 
expedients  of  love  sickened  him  with  anger. 
"  She 's  the  one  perfect  woman,"  he  swore  to 
the  night,  "  and  she 's  got  to  come  down  to 
managing  Scot  Clark!" 

John  was  not  given  to  imaginative  presage, 
but  quite  clearly  he  saw  what  he  had  missed. 
And  Rachel  Sears  had  chosen  the  one  creature, 
who,  above  all  others,  was  sure  to  cheat  her  of 
the  sane  devotion  of  a  strong  man's  love. 


•       .  .         :    , 


BUT  Scotto  did  not  sail  with  James 
Howes,  nor  was  there  any  news  of  him 
after  his  meeting  with  John  Dillingham.  And 
John  made  a  flying  visit  to  Bradford,  and 
was  off  again  for  the  Far  East.  He  was  loaded 
for  Sydney,  and  then,  if  all  went  well,  he  was 
to  work  his  way  up  to  Hong  Kong,  or,  per- 
haps, take  the  return  cargo  at  Calcutta.  His 
owners  gave  him  the  freedom  of  his  judgment 
as  to  place  and  tune.  This  was  only  his  third 
voyage  as  master,  but  they  knew  their  man. 
In  that  last  expedition  to  Antwerp,  his  shrewd 
(116) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


common  sense  had  got  the  better  of  the  Flam- 
ands  at  a  bargain;  and  once,  when  no  more 
than  a  boy,  he  had  saved  a  ship  for  them  by 
bringing  it,  practically  a  water-logged  derelict, 
across  a  winter  Atlantic  after  her  captain,  sick 
and  despairing,  had  given  up  all  for  lost. 

As  the  months  went  by,  tongues  began  to 
wag  at  Bradford.  Not  only  was  there  no  wed- 
ding, —  the  rumor  had  been  that  Rachel  and 
Scot  were  to  be  married  that  autumn,  —  but, 
it  was  suspected,  no  news  of  the  bridegroom. 

"  You  need  n't  tell  me,"  said  Aunt  Zella- 
phine  Mayo.  "I  surmise  that  John  Dilling- 
ham  knew  more  than  he  told.  John  's  a  good 
boy,  and  Scot 's  a  wanderer ;  still,  John  wa'n't 
anxious  to  get  Scot  home.  Maybe  he  thought 
that  if  Scot  kep'  away  this  year,  Rachel  'd 
know  her  mind  a  little  clearer,  and  pick  out  the 
best  man  in  the  end.  Don't  tell  me.  All 's  fair 
in  love  'n'  war." 

Scotto  should  have  returned  in  September. 
News  came  that  the  business  of  his  journey 
was  accomplished.  He  had  left  Hamburg,  pre- 
sumably to  take  ship  at  Amsterdam.  John 
(117) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


had  seen  him  at  Antwerp.  Then  it  was  as  if 
the  waters  had  closed  over  his  head.  More 
tongues  came  to  whisper  Mrs.  Zellaphine's 
innuendo  :  John  Dillingham  knew  more  than 
he  told,  and  John  Dillingham  could  not  be 
home  until  summer,  or  it  was  conceivable  that 
he  might  be  trading  up  and  down  among 
those  Eastern  ports  for  another  year.  Mean- 
time, had  he  not  put  Scotto  in  the  way  of  some 
scheme  that  should  keep  him  away  from  home? 
But  no  one  heard  a  syllable  of  the  two  from 
Rachel.  With  perhaps  an  accession  of  dignity 
she  went  about  her  homely  duties ;  she.  man- 
aged the  household  and  softened  the  acer- 
bities of  Azubah's  points  of  contact  with  the 
family;  she  played  the  petted  child  of  old 
Elkanah, — his  "little  None-such"  he  more 
than  ever  called  her ;  she  nursed  a  family  of 
kittens  which  Mike  was  concealing  from  Azu- 
bah's predatory  expeditions  to  the  barn. 

Winter  at  High  Bradford  was  not  the  dull 

season  its  city  cousins  pictured.  The  packet 

was  tied  up  from   November   to   April,  the 

stage  sometimes  missed  its  reckoning  when  a 

(118) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


sudden  snow  clogged  the  roads ;  but  the  town 
turned  in  upon  its  resources,  —  "  lived  on  its 
fat,"  Philander  Paine  said,  —  and  there  were 
doings  enough  to  keep  every  one  out  of  mis- 
chief. This  was  a  bitter  winter,  as  weather 
• 

went,  with  the  greatest  snow  of  the  century, 
and  December  came  in  with  an  insistent  fall, 
which  began  with  short  quick  flurries,  and  be- 
fore the  first  night  fell  was  lashed  into  whirl- 
ing tempests  of  sleet. 

On  that  afternoon  Azubah  had  set  out  to 
pay  her  weekly  visit  to  the  old  mother  and 
sister  who  lived  on  a  tiny  farm  among  the  hills 
at  the  west  of  the  town.  There  a  few  sheep 
grazed  the  wind-swept  moors ;  in  summer  ti- 
ger-lilies nodded  under  the  gray  eaves;  and  a 
flourishing  potato  field  tended  by  the  vigor- 
ous hand  of  old  Marm  Small  lay  behind  the 
cow-yard.  She  raised  flax  for  her  spinning,  and 
wove  rough  petticoats  for  Azubah  and  her 
sister  from  the  wool  of  her  own  little  flock. 
A  fine  old  woman  of  the  fast  dying-out  pion- 
eer stock  she  was,  whose  household  made 
small  demand  upon  the  village  store,  and  was 
(119) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


mostly  sufficient  for  its  own  need.  The  three 
old  women  had  had  an  early  tea,  and  as  Azu- 
bah  set  out  in  the  dusk  compounded  of  storm 
and  the  dying  day,  her  mother  held  the  candle 
high  behind  a  sheltering  hand,  and  cautioned 
her  about  the  path. 

"  There,  there,  marm,"  said  Azubah.  "  You 
shut  that  door.  If  I  don't  know  this  pastur'  land 
blindfold,!  betterstick  in  a  drift  till  nextweek." 

But  she  had  gone  not  a  dozen  steps  before 
she  lost  the  familiar  trail,  and  groped  about 
in  the  blind  smother  until  long  after  night- 
fall, when,  as  her  stout  heart  was  all  but  fail- 
ing, she  stumbled  on  the  sheep-gate  that  led 
to  the  highroad  and  set  her  face  to  the  long 
way  home.  Here  she  was  plunging  valiantly 
through  drifts  and  eddies  that  threatened  from 
moment  to  moment  to  sweep  her  from  her  feet, 
yet  keeping  her  bearings  by  the  familiar  pat- 
terns of  the  fences  as  she  pulled  herself  along, 
when  a  halloo  came  out  of  the  blank  behind  her. 

"Lord  Almighty,  woman,"  roared  a  voice 
like  the  booming  of  surf,  "what  you  doing 
out  this  night?" 

(120) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


It  was  the  doctor,  whose  old  horse  was 
groping  his  way  home  by  a  leading  instinct 
for  bran-mash  and  warm  housing. 

"  Never  you  mind  what  I  'm  doin',"  yelled 
Azubah  the  undaunted.  "  Ain't  a  body  a  right 
to  see  her  own  mother  ?  " 

"You  ain't  seeing  her  in  that  snowbank, 
and  you '11  never  be  seeing  her  again  if  you  don't 
get  in  here  quick.  No  words.  In  you  come." 

He  pulled  her  in  by  a  sweep  of  his  mighty 
arm,  and  in  a  moment  she  had  breath  enough 
for  a  question. 

"Where  you  been?  Jim  Chase's?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Ten-pound  boy,  and  he  like  to  have  come 
into  the  world  without  my  help.  Lost  my  way 
within  six  rods  of  the  house  as  much  as  if  I  'd 
been  in  the  Desert  of  Sahara,  and  Jonas  got 
stuck  in  a  drift.  Been  there  yet,  if  Jim's  old  horse 
had  n't  whinnied,  and  put  new  life  into  us." 

"  Glad  it 's  a  boy,"  said  Azubah,  sticking 
to  the  main  issue.  "  They  need  props." 

She  relapsed  into  the  silence  of  exhaustion, 
(121) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  when  he  deposited  her  on  her  own  kitchen 
settle  at  Cap'n  Elkanah's,  all  but  her  spirit  was 
sodden  with  misery.  That  blazed  high,  a  torch 
of  insurrection,  when  he  counselled  bed  and  a 
hot  drink. 

"  I  ain't  dead  yet,  an'  I  shan't  be  dead  to- 
morrer,"  she  announced  from  the  depths  of 
a  pulpy  "punkin"  hood.  Mike  had  appeared 
from  the  shed,  and  she  was  in  no  mood  to 
bear  his  scrutiny  of  her  fallen  state.  "  You 
git  out  o'  my  kitchen  with  them  wet  feet," 
shrilled  she,  little  heeding  the  rivulets  that 
were  making  toward  the  hearth  from  her  island 
of  braided  mat.  "  There,  that  het  me  up 
some,"  she  said,  as  Mike  vanished  into  outer 
gloom.  And  when  Rachel  reminded  her  that 
every  one  had  eaten  supper,  and  she  might  as 
well  be  taking  off  her  wet  clothes,  she  meekly 
followed  her  upstairs,  and  even  condescended 
to  bed  and  hot  bricks  and  a  mug  of  steaming 
"  composition." 

For  ten  days  the  storm  slackened  only  to 
regain  strength  for  new  fury.  The  sky,  when 
it  could  be  seen  for  the  smother,  was  a  low- 
(122) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


lying  pall  of  gray ;  and  day  and  night,  beneath 
the  shrieking  winds,  there  was  the  unceasing 
monotone  of  booming  surf  where  it  beat  on 
the  sands  of  the  outer  shore.  Even  the  bay 
rose  and  wrecked  the  breakwater  and  the  pier 
where  the  packets  made  fast.  And  Bradford 
might  have  been  on  a  waste  of  waters  for 
all  it  heard  of  an  outer  world.  Although  it 
knew  that  disaster  walked  amid  the  shoals 
and  cliffs  of  the  shore  where  the  fishermen 
lived,  it  could  only  keep  snugly  to  its  own 
craft  and  wait  for  the  sun  to  give  it  bearings. 
A  heavy  south  wind  usually  unblanketed  the 
fields  in  a  week,  but  it  was  a  fortnight  before 
the  stage  came  plunging  through  the  drifts 
from  the  railway,  twenty  miles  up-country, 
and  for  the  most  part  of  that  winter  sleighs 
might  have  been  steered  by  compass  like  boats 
over  the  submerged  landmarks.  And  by  that 
first  stage  came  a  letter  to  Rachel  from  Scotto 
Clark.  It  was  dated  at  Rangoon. 

"  DEAR  RAY  :  Forgive  me.  Yours,  SCOT." 
That  was  all. 


IN  spite  of  the  snow,  the  town  had  been 
gay  that  winter.  There  were  the  usual 
gentle  diversions  of  lyceum,  sewing-circle,  high 
teas,  and  dances,  and  in  addition  there  were 
three  entertainments  to  make  money  for  the 
new  library, —  classical  tableaux  vivants,  a 
lecture,  a  play.  Rachel  and  Polly,  Asenath 
and  Caroline  Sears  were  the  backbone  of  every 
such  enterprise,  and  the  library,  already  grown 
to  some  hundreds  of  volumes,  fed  the  seek- 
ing intellect  of  Bradford  on  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  afternoons  from  one  to  four.  Rachel 
(124) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  Polly  volunteered  for  alternate  months  as 
custodians ;  and  little  Mrs.  Bristed,  having 
laid  down  an  extra  mat  from  front  door  to 
library  room  for  Bradford's  winter  feet,  re- 
tired to  the  fastness  of  her  sewing-corner, 
where  she  could  not  hear  or  see  the  intruders. 
James  had  been  sorry  for  the  invasion  of  his 
mother's  privacy ;  but  after  all,  he  reflected, 
the  visitors  were  no  other  than  neighbors 
whom  she  welcomed  on  any  other  errand ; 
and  his  real  regret  was  that  not  many  of  the 
"  Methodies,"  at  the  east  end  of  the  town, 
had  used  the  new  books.  In  the  flush  of  his 
young  liberalism,  he  knew  that  they,  more 
than  his  own  flock  who  might  scan  the  great 
book  of  personal  adventure  on  the  broad  seas, 
needed  what  letters  could  bring  them. 

And  James  himself  had  not  been  impervious 
to  the  soft  insistence  of  beckoning  circum- 
stance :  for  Polly  Mayo  doled  out  the  books  in 
January,  just  after  the  holiday  season,  when 
she  and  Rachel  had  made  high  festival  for  his 
Sunday-school.  He  had  tried  to  teach  his 
children  love  and  worship,  and  Polly,  as  she 
(125) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


stood  in  the  light  of  the  Christmas  tree,  her 
arm  about  the  neck  of  the  smallest  girl  who 
huddled  in  the  soft  flow  of  her  brown  petti- 
coats like  a  shy  woodland  sprite,  had  looked 
to  him,  suddenly,  like  the  embodiment  of  his 
pure  ambition.  Out  of  his  shadowy  corner  he 
looked  and  looked,  and  knew,  as  he  watched 
the  tender  gayety  of  her  service,  that  he  saw 
his  wife. 

She  had  administered  the  library  with  a 
capable  hand :  Asenath  Snow  could  not  have 
bettered  her  method.  She  threw  over  the  list 
transcribed  by  Mrs.  Sears  in  a  fat  book  for 
a  cunning  device  of  cards ;  so,  though  the 
Bradford  Lending  Library  should  rival  that  of 
Alexandria,  its  custodian  could  keep  the  pace 
without  altering  the  original  design  of  regis- 
try. James  helped  in  the  process;  and  while 
he  cut  cards  from  Caroline  Sears'  drawing- 
board  and  ruled  them  off  in  brave  pink  lines, 
with  secret  delight  he  watched  Polly  as  she 
labored  to  write  the  titles  there  in  good  round 
letters  instead  of  the  serried  lances  of  the 
fashionable  script. 

(126) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


And  once  or  twice  she  had  stayed  to  tea  with 
his  mother  and  him ;  and  the  delicate  old  china 
had  never  seemed  so  beautiful,  the  silver  had 
never  shone  so  bright  as  when  those  two  dear 
women,  the  one  a  rose  of  youth,  the  other  like 
an  exquisite  limning  of  age,  sat  at  his  board 
and  broke  his  bread.  Then  he  had  walked 
home  with  Polly,  and  they  had  talked  of  no 
more,  perhaps,  than  the  circulation  of  books 
or  of  discipline  in  the  Sunday-school :  yet 
for  each  the  other  seemed  to  reveal  the  mys- 
tery of  Heaven.  "  It  is  because  he  is  a  min- 
ister that  he  is  different  from  all  other  men," 
reasoned  Polly.  "He  makes  me  want  to  be 
good."  And  once  Polly  had  asked  him  to 
come  in,  and  sang  to  him  from  the  "South- 
ern Harp,"  wherein  new  words  were  set  to 
sweet  folk-tunes  of  the  Old  World.  The  woo- 
ing, if  wooing  it  were,  was  as  gradual  as  the 
ordered  dawn ;  and  when  March  came  around 
and  Polly  again  presided  in  the  east  room  at 
the  parsonage,  their  sky  was  barely  flushed 
with  rose. 

The  old  woman  and  the  girl  had  made 
(127) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


swifter  strides  toward  intimacy.  Shy  little  Mrs. 
Bristed  had  blossomed  sweetly  in  the  soft  at- 
mosphere of  Polly's  deference,  and  sure  proof 
of  an  old  woman's  allegiance  to  a  younger, 
had  even  displayed  for  her  hidden  stores  of 
household  treasures.  Together,  one  spring 
day,  they  were  estimating  some  unused  ma- 
hogany in  the  garret. 

"  This  cabinet,  dear  Mrs.  Bristed,"  said  the 
girl,  "  would  be  lovely  downstairs." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  her  companion.  "  James's 
father  bought  that  for  our  parlor.  I  should 
like  to  arrange  in  it  some  fine  china  ornaments 
that  I  have  been  obliged  to  pack  away." 

"  And  this  sofa,  and  this  table ;  you  really 
have  almost  a  complete  set." 

"My  dear,  we  get  on  very  well  with  the 
west  parlor  and  the  middle  room  for  dining." 
Her  thought  had  reverted  to  her  shattered 
dream  of  an  unused,  but  bedecked,  east  par- 
lor, and  she  answered  that  rather  than  Polly's 
suggestion. 

But  the  girl  knew  :  Mrs.  Bristed  longed  for 
a  "  best  room,"  and  her  mind  went  seeking 
(128) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


a  new  shelter  for  the  library.  She  talked 
with  Rachel,  and  finally  they  pitched  upon  a 
little  building  which  had  been  the  district 
school-house  when  their  fathers  were  caned 
into  an  understanding  of  the  three  R's.  They 
represented  the  matter  to  Asenath  and  Mrs. 
Sears  as  a  needed  change  for  the  growing 
library.  Even  James  Bristed  admitted  that 
it  might  be  wiser  to  avoid  the  semblance  of 
a  sectarian  fount  of  wisdom  :  those  east-end 
Methodies  might  refresh  their  intellect  the 
sooner.  The  building  had  come  to  be  used  for 
the  town  hearse-house ;  but  a  new  domicile 
was  found  for  the  chariot  of  death,  and  on  a 
fine  spring  day  Cap'n  Beriah  Pratt  borrowed 
a  horse  and  cart,  and  by  three  leisurely  transits 
the  library  came  to  its  own.  The  girls  had 
gone  a-begging — many  captains  were  at  home 
that  spring.  The  house  was  bought  for  a 
song.  Two  captains  and  a  mate  renewed  their 
days  before  the  mast  by  turning  to  and  swab- 
bing the  walls  outside  and  in  with  bucketfuls 
of  creamy  paint.  Old  Chips  Hall,  the  town  car- 
penter, who  had  served  under  Cap'n  Elkanah, 
(129) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


made  the  shelves  from  timber  cut  and  shaped 
in  the  sawmill  to  the  west'ard,  owned  by  Cap'n 
Edward  Dillingham.  Caroline's  class  in  draw- 
ing contributed  careful  copies  of  engravings 
in  the  current  numbers  of  the  "Lady's  Book." 
Polly  charmed  the  Methodies  into  hemming 
curtains.  And,  in  short,  Bradford  had  the  be- 
ginning of  a  public  library,  for  the  committee 
had  determined  that  the  fees  should  be  only 
nominal,  and  wealth  should  be  distinguished 
there  by  the  privilege  of  putting  hand  in 
pocket  and  paying  the  bills.  During  this  cam- 
paign, Asenath  had  fallen  back  somewhat  upon 
the  position  of  chief  critic ;  but  she  was  forced 
to  admit  that  "  those  girls  had  done  a  good 
job." 

And  Polly  had  not  overlooked  the  reverse 
of  the  coin  :  for  in  a  few  weeks  Mrs.  Bristed 
had  the  joy  of  contemplating  the  conventions 
of  a  parlor,  where  Mr.  Bristed's  portrait, 
painted  in  Philadelphia  when  the  century  was 
young,  hung  over  the  chaste  decoration  of  the 
mantel,  the  cabinet  bore  its  predestined  treas- 
ure of  china,  a  Turkey  carpet  glowed  under- 
(130) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


foot,  gilt-bound  "  Annuals  "  and  glazed  fruits 
ornamented  the  corner  what-not.  With  a  deep 
sigh  of  content  she  closed  the  blinds,  and  left 
the  spot  to  an  isolation  to  be  broken  only  by 
some  festival  of  life  or  death. 

It  was  spring  again,  and  John  Dillingham 
had  turned  the  prow  of  his  ship  homeward, 
and  Mercy  and  Madam  Desire  had  bettered 
the  beautiful  ordering  of  their  house  against 
his  return.  The  breakwater  had  been  rebuilt, 
and  the  packets  had  begun  their  semiweekly 
trips  to  the  city.  Cap'n  Elkanah  was  getting 
his  salt-works  into  commission,  and  their  mills 
were  whirring  lazily  in  the  soft  west  wind. 
Mike  Connelly  was  helping  at  the  plough.  May- 
flowers pricked  through  their  woodland  blan- 
ketings, lilies-of-the-valley  were  abloom,  purple 
and  white  lilacs  nodded  below  Rachel's  window 
and  made  night  odorous  with  tropic  scent. 
But  in  all  these  months  no  more  had  been 
heard  from  Scotto  Clark. 


xn 

CAP'N  BELA  MAYO  loved  his  peace 
more  than  most  men ;  and  by  a  freak 
of  fortune  he  had  married  Zellaphine  Rous- 
seau, with  whom  there  was  no  peace.  But  he 
had  the  respite  which  his  time  and  calling 
supplied :  he  was  a  deep-water  captain,  and 
such  a  one,  without  scandal  or  deterrence, 
might  absent  himself  from  the  marital  yoke 
for  one,  two,  three  years ;  then,  after  a  short 
month  ashore, — a  week  if  the  gyves  cut  deep, 
— off  he  must  sail  on  the  free  waters  by  the 
unquestioned  and  respectable  necessity  of  pro- 
(132) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


viding  for  his  family.  Cap'n  Bela  had  no 
certainty  of  the  reputation  his  wife's  tongue 
might  give  him;  but  he  was  known  as  a  jolly 
good  soul  and  a  fair  dealer  in  every  foreign 
port  where  he  met  his  mates,  and  that  con- 
tented him.  Polly  was  his  idol,  and  he  brought 
her  the  prettiest  f  olderols  that  a  captain  could 
pick  up  in  Europe  or  Asia.  In  summer  she 
went  habited  in  gossamer  stuffs  a  fairy  might 
have  envied;  in  winter  the  soft  silks  and 
wools  of  Eastern  looms  wrapped  her  from  the 
cold.  She  even  had  an  ermine  tippet  and  muff, 
and  a  small  string  of  pearls,  and  her  India  em- 
broideries could  not  be  matched  in  Bradford. 

Early  in  June  Bela  had  returned  from  a 
three-years'  voyage ;  and  he  meant  "  to  stay  at 
home  a  goodlongspell  this  time,"  hetoldthecon- 
clave  assembled  at  General  Philander  Paine's. 

"  This  heavin'  an'  tossin'  about 's  all  right 
for  a  young  feller,  but  when  a  man  reaches 
my  time  o'  life,  he  best  stay  put  for  a  while." 

Bela  was  forty-five,  and  had  been  a  sailor 
since  his  tenth  birthday. 

"  You  've  tossed  more  'n  most,  Bela,"  re- 
(133) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


marked  Cap'n  Edward  Dillingham,  who  sat 
with  his  feet  on  the  cold  hearth  of  the  Frank- 
lin stove.  "  You  better  stay  anchored  this  trip 
till  you  ground  on  your  beef  bones." 

"  I  '11  stay  till  I  've  had  a  chance  to  see 
something  of  that  little  girl  of  mine." 

"So  do,  Bela,  so  do.  You  won't  see  any- 
thing better,  go  where  you  will.  And  it  looks 
to  me  as  if  the  Reverend  James  Bristed  was 
coming  to  our  way  o'  thinking." 

"Humph! "  grunted  Bela. 

Polly  was  as  happy  as  a  bird  to  have  her 
father  at  home.  The  two  had  always  been  like 
lovers  —  with  the  duenna's  eye  upon  them: 
for  poor  Zellaphine  had  the  jealousy  that  com- 
panions a  sharp  tongue.  She  knew  that  she 
must,  inevitably,  alienate  those  nearest  her, 
and  the  discomfort  of  that  knowledge  made 
her  lash  the  harder.  Year  in  and  year  out  she 
had  walked  that  wearisome  round,  and  knew 
no  escape;  some  greater  grief  or  joy,  some 
emotion  stirring  deeper  depths  than  had  yet 
been  touched,  must  make  the  tangent  for 
that  circle. 

(134) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


James  Bristed  had  wooed  his  shy  bird  with 
tender  art  to  accustom  her  to  the  thought  that 
their  natural  mating-time  had  come.  For  Polly, 
with  all  her  gentleness,  had  a  wild  spirit  that 
would  accept  no  permanent  arrangement  of 
things;  nor  was  it  in  her  to  trust  the  vows  of 
man.  Perhaps,  though  she  was  an  embodiment 
of  poetic  youth  created  to  waken  all  the  echoes 
of  romance,  she  had  a  prosaic  little  heart  that 
denied  the  dreams  she  imaged.  And  it  had 
seemed  to  her  as  if  all  men  must  love  her  a 
little  and  no  man  enough.  In  truth,  they  all 
bowed  at  that  pretty  shrine ;  yet,  when  one 
raised  eyes  of  serious  worship,  the  goddess  was 
likely  to  be  metamorphosed  into  a  laughing 
girl,  who  teased  a  little,  and  then  turned  upon 
him  a  coolly  matter-of-fact  aspect  that  was  dis- 
concerting to  ardor.  Was  it  that  lovely  Polly 
lacked  imagination  or  the  will  to  love  that  she 
quenched  so  many  flames  before  they  blazed 
high  enough  to  endanger  maiden  reserves? 
She  wondered  at  herself,  and  even  saw  herself 
an  old  maid. 

"I'll  live  alone  and  make  socks  for  Ra- 
(135) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


chel's  babies,  and  perhaps  teach  in  the  Sun- 
day-school." Here  she  paused  for  a  moment's 
deflection  of  thought.  "  But  never,  so  long 
as  I  live,  will  I  manage  people  like  Asenath 
Snow." 

She  smiled  mischievously.  She  remembered 
the  ministerial  fishing  expeditions  that  fol- 
lowed so  unfailingly  any  fresh  onslaught  of 
Asenath's  upon  the  temporal  administration  of 
the  church. 

And  James  Bristed,  with  the  eyes  of  true 
love,  saw  far  into  the  temperamental  difficul- 
ties of  little  Polly. 

"  Because  she  is  beautiful,  she  has  come  to 
distrust  us,"  he  reasoned.  "She  thinks  we 
love  with  a  flame  that  dies.  Moreover,  she 
likes  the  freedom  and  fun  of  her  own  sweet 
way.  I  will  win  her  gradually  to  the  idea  of 
abiding  love,  and  one  day  she  '11  wake  to  find 
that  love  is  the  air  she  breathes.  Then  I  '11 
dare  the  short-cut  to  happiness." 

And  one  June  evening  he  had  taken  that 
path,  and  had  knocked  gently  at  the  low  door 
of  her  heart. 

(136) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


That  afternoon  Mrs.  Bristed  and  Polly  had 
been  busy  over  the  retriinming  of  last  sum- 
mer's Victoria  braid  bonnet.  The  old  woman 
had  come  to  look  upon  the  girl  as  the  long- 
desired  daughter,  and  as  a  matter  of  course, 
appealed  to  her  in  the  remodelling  of  gowns 
and  head-dresses.  Polly's  deft  fingers  were 
sewing  in  a  fine  lace  ruche  as  a  fit  setting  for 
her  friend's  delicate  face. 

"Not  that  you  need  it,  with  those  darling 
curls,"  said  she.  "  Why  don't  we  all  have  sil- 
ver curls  ?  " 

"  You  '11  have  them  soon  enough,  dear," 
answered  Mrs.  Bristed.  "Be  content  with 
your  own  brown  ones  for  a  time." 

"If  I  could  only  be  like  you  or  dear  Aunt 
Desire  Dillingham,"  sighed  Polly.  Somehow  in 
these  June  days  she  seemed  to  be  dwelling 
on  the  thought  of  old  age  and  spinsterhood. 
"  But  I  may  grow  to  be  sharp  and  wizened 
and  crotchety,  and  the  children  will  call  me 
'cross  Miss  Polly  Mayo' ;  and  I  '11  have  only  an 
earthenware  teapot  and  a  cat  for  comfort,  and 
I  '11  wear  a  calash  over  my  cap  in  summer,  and 
(137) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


a  'punkin'  hood  in  winter,  like  Azubah  Small, 
and—" 

Polly  was  whirling  away  on  the  freshet  of 
her  own  eloquence,  and  Mrs.  Bristed  laughed 
gently  at  the  spectacle. 

"  Dear  little  daughter,"  said  she,  "  you  're 
my  comfort  now,  and  that 's  enough.  We  '11 
postpone  the  calash  and  the  cat." 

Then  it  had  been  supper  time,  and  Maggie 
Connelly  gave  them  cream-o'-tartar  biscuits 
light  as  foam.  And  Mrs.  Bristed,  the  perfection 
of  a  fine  old  gentlewoman  in  her  floating  lace, 
— nothing  could  persuade  her  to  wear  the  pre- 
vailing widow's  cap,  —  and  the  white  fichu 
folded  away  from  her  neck  of  withered  rose- 
leaves,  poured  choice  tea  into  the  egg-shell 
cups.  And  James  watched  her  and  the  girl 
demurely  seated  between  them,  and  loved  both 
women  with  a  passion  of  tenderness  which  his 
mother  read  as  from  an  open  page  and  nodded 
as  if  he  had  challenged  her  consent. 

As  he  walked  home  with  Polly  through  the 
warm  dusk,  he  laid  his  slender  scholar's  hand 
upon  the  little  hand  that  touched  his  arm. 
(138) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Polly,"  he  said  quietly,  "  I  want  it  to  be 
always  as  it  has  been  to-night :  you  and  mo- 
ther sitting  there  together,  and  I  loving  you 
both.  Just  we  three,  — mother  and  you  and  I." 

"  Oh  ! "  breathed  Polly,  in  a  faint  little  sigh. 

"  Yes,  dear.  Dream  on  it  to-night.  We  're 
waiting  for  you." 

That  was  all,  save,  as  they  stood  at  the  gate 
in  the  lilac  hedge,  he  bent  over  and  kissed  the 
fingers  that  still  rested  on  his  arm. 


XIII 

FOR  a  month  the  town  had  been  brim- 
ming with  life,  for  Cap'n  James  Howes 
was  in  port,  and  all  his  officers  and  most  of  the 
crew,  down  to  the  cabin  boys,  were  Bradford 
born.  Contrary  to  custom,  his  men  sailed  with 
him  voyage  after  voyage,  —  a  first  mate  leav- 
ing only  to  become  master  of  a  ship,  the  others 
stepping  up  in  order ;  and  their  promotion  was 
rapid :  for  merchants  had  come  to  regard  the 
Imperial  as  a  valuable  training-ship  of  the  best 
deep-water  sailors,  and  no  man  made  more 
than  two  voyages  on  her  as  mate  before  he 
(140) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


had  a  ship  of  his  own.  Several  young  captains 
also  chanced  to  be  at  home ;  and  as  James 
Howes  and  his  men  were  soon  to  be  afloat 
again,  the  annual  picnic  was  to  be  celebrated 
as  a  send-off  to  them  and  a  welcome,  it  was 
hoped,  to  John  Dillingham,  whoma  fast  clipper 
ship  had  reported  in  the  southeast  trades. 

Every  summer,  when  there  were  enough 
young  men  at  home,  a  woodland  festival  was 
held  at  one  of  the  lakes,  which,  like  burn- 
ing blue  jewels,  studded  the  rolling  country 
of  the  watershed  between  sea  and  bay.  Save 
for  an  occasional  sportsman,  no  one  came  to 
this  particular  lake,  except  at  the  annual  pil- 
grimage of  the  Bradford  young  people.  It  was 
reached  only  by  tortuous,  overgrown  wood 
roads,  and  seemed  more  remote  from  man  than 
in  the  days  when  Indians  glided  through  forest 
paths  to  the  clearings  where  maize  was  planted, 
or  beached  a  canoe  on  the  sands  under  a 
shelving  bank  as  they  returned  from  hunting 
in  the  heavier  forest  three  miles  down  the 
length  of  the  lake.  Smiling,  dimpling  water  it 
was  that  lapped  the  miniature  curved  beaches, 
(141) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


yet  capable  of  sudden  fury  when  veering  winds 
met  in  the  hills  and  cut  down  across  the  lake 
in  savage  squalls. 

The  morning  came,  a  perfect,  breathless 
summer  day;  and  at  an  early  hour  young 
bucks  in  linen  and  pith-helmets  were  dashing 
about  to  carry  messages  and  collect  provisions. 
These  seamen  drove  a  horse  as  they  sailed  a 
ship,  —  crowding  on  all  canvas,  with  a  light 
hand  on  the  helm;  and  country  plodders 
threw  off  the  inertia  of  their  customary  gait 
to  race  like  two-year-olds  when  a  sailor  held 
the  reins.  This  was  to  outshine  any  previous 
celebration:  some  of  the  captains  had  even 
carted  two  small  sailboats  to  the  pond,  and, 
if  it  breezed  up,  races  were  promised  to  vary 
the  feasting  and  games  of  an  ordinary  picnic. 
Every  kind  of  vehicle,  from  low-hung  carts 
to  the  doctor's  tilbury,  were  pressed  into  serv- 
ice, and  a  motley  procession  wound  through 
the  town  and  over  the  fields  to  the  narrow 
wood  roads,  —  a  laughing  crew  they  were : 
the  girls,  in  their  multitudinous  gauzy  ruffles 
and  scarfs,  as  sweet  as  roses,  as  any  of  the 
(142) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


bronzed  fellows  who  peered  under  the  big 
flowered  bonnets  could  have  told  you. 

As  it  chanced,  this  befell  on  the  day  after 
James  Bristed  and  Polly  walked  home  through 
the  dusk,  and  he  had  kissed  her  hand,  and 
bade  her  dream  of  love.  As  they  left  the 
parsonage,  she  had  expressed  some  shy  hope 
that  he  might  be  at  the  picnic;  but  he  had 
promised  a  visit  to  a  poor  sick  creature  at 
South  Bay:  all  of  which  made  an  excuse  for 
an  early  morning  note  to  her,  wherein  he 
spoke  of  love  and  hinted  that  he  might  drive 
up  to  the  pond  in  the  late  afternoon  or  even- 
ing and  come  home  with  them,  —  with  her,  he 
meant,  — and  all  day  he  had  been  dreaming 
of  that  journey  through  the  summer  night 
and  of  the  words  he  might  coax  to  her  lips. 

But  in  mid-afternoon,  a  chaise  drove  furi- 
ously up  to  the  parsonage  gate,  and  Bela 
Mayo,  a  figure  of  haggard  woe,  knocked  at 
the  door.  James  himself  opened  to  him. 

"James  Bristed,"  croaked  the  man,  fallen 
since  morning  from  the  bloom  of  a  late  youth 
to  age,  "  I  have  sad  news  for  ye.  Polly  "  — 
(143) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


he  paused,  and  his  eyes  widened  to  the  scope 
of  an  incredible  horror  —  "  Polly  lies  drowned 
at  the  bottom  o£  the  pond.  And  as  ye  are  a 
man  of  God,  forget  yourself,  and  come  with 
me  to  tell  her  mother." 

As  the  two  men  drove  down  the  street, 
James  noted  that  Cap'n  Bela  was  sodden  and 
soaked,  the  water  trickling  from  him  and  drip- 
ping from  the  chaise. 

"  You,  too  ?  "  he  managed  to  ask  with  his 
stiff  lips. 

"  Five  on  us.  A  squall  slammed  us  over  on 
our  beam  ends  and  rolled  us  under.  The  others 
come  up.  I  dove  four  times." 

Zellaphine  saw  them  coming,  and  was  at  the 
gate. 

"  Lord  save  us,  Bela  Mayo,  what 's  happened 
to  you  ?  I  told  you  not  to  go  skylarking  with 
those  young  people.  Got  ducked,  did  ye?" 

"There,  there,  Zellie,"  said  poor  Cap'n 
Bela,  as  he  clambered  from  the  chaise.  "I 
would  n't.  I  would  n't." 

Something  in  the  stark  faces  of  the  men  ar- 
rested her.  She  turned  white. 
(144) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  gasped.  "  Polly  — ' 

"  Polly  cannot  come,  Mrs.  Mayo,"  said  James 
slowly. 

"  Polly  —  cannot  —  come  ?  Why  ?  " 

«  Polly—" 

"0  Zellie,  Zellie,"  broke  in  Cap'n  Bela. 
"  There 's  only  you  V  me  now.  And  I  guess 
we  '11  have  to  do  some  comfortin'  of  each 
other." 

"Bela!"  She  hardly  breathed  the  name. 
Then,  with  a  pathetic  assumption  of  her  old 
sprightliness,  she  turned  toward  the  house. 
"  Bela  Mayo,  you  come  right  in  an'  strip  off 
them  wet  duds,  and  I  '11  get  a  hot  drink  to 
heat  ye  up." 

She  took  him  gently  by  the  hand,  and  as 
the  two  sorrowful  figures  disappeared,  James 
climbed  into  the  chaise  and  drove  off  toward 
the  woods. 

The  glory  of  the  summer  day  was  obscured: 
great  clouds  rolled  up  from  the  west  and 
north,  drops  of  rain  came  beating  down,  thun- 
der boomed  along  the  horizon.  And  the  first 
flaw  in  that  perfect  day  had  killed  his  dar- 
(145) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


ling.  James  groaned  and  bowed  his  head,  then 
urged  on  the  horse  as  if  he  yet  might  save 
her.  Unseeing,  he  passed  the  returning  pleas- 
ure-seekers who  had  found  only  grief.  They 
knew — when  have  neighbors  not  known  the 
lover? — and  drove  by  silently. 

"  Don't  know  's  we  ought  to  let  him  go  up 
there  alone,"  said  one  of  the  men  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Let  him  be,"  answered  a  woman.  "  He  '11 
come  to  no  harm." 

James  drove  the  horse  under  a  rude  shelter 
built  for  picnickers,  and  carefully  blanketed 
him.  Then  he  walked  down  to  the  shingly 
beach,  and  put  off  in  a  little  boat  he  found 
there.  The  sailboat  had  been  righted  and  lay  at 
anchor  like  a  monument  to  mark  the  tragedy  of 
the  waters.  James  rowed  out  to  her  and  climbed 
aboard.  Caught  in  a  rope  was  a  wet  little  ball, 
which,  mechanically,  he  picked  up  and  spread 
out  on  his  knee.  "  P.  M."  he  read  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  tiny  handkerchief,  and  groaned 
again  in  a  moment's  agony. 

"  No,  I  must  n't !  "  he  said  fiercely. 
(146) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


He  stood  up  to  look  out  over  the  water 
that  was  being  lashed  into  a  green  fury  by  the 
storm.  Thunder  crashed  overhead  and  light- 
ning burned  jagged  rents  in  the  black  clouds. 
The  boat  under  him  tossed  and  strained  at 
her  anchors,  and  he  was  half  stunned  by  the 
increasing  commotion.  In  a  moment's  lull  he 
looked  about  him. 

"Where,  where  shall  I  find  her?"  bemoaned. 
"  Polly  !  Polly  !  " 

Over  there  to  the  east,  he  suddenly  saw 
what  looked  like  a  beckoning  figure  rising 
above  the  waters ;  then  the  waves  took  it  and 
hid  it  from  his  sight.  With  a  cry,  "  God,  it 's 
Polly ! "  he  clambered  back  to  his  boat  and 
pulled  madly  for  the  spot.  Where  was  it  ? 
Here :  but  there  was  no  sign.  A  little  farther 
on,  and  there  he  saw  something  awash  on  the 
waves.  By  what  skill  he  knew  not,  he  took  her 
into  his  boat  and  through  the  shrieking  clamor 
of  the  storm  headed  for  the  shore. 

A  veil  obscured  her  face  —  it  had  been  her 
death;  the  draggled  finery  clung  pitifully  to 
her  limbs ;  a  long  cloak,  heavy  to  strangle 
(147) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  drag  down,  fell  from  its  clasp  at  her 
throat.  He  wrapped  the  body  of  all  he  loved 
reverently  in  its  folds,  and  slowly  drove  back 
to  the  town.  "  That  such  should  be  our  wed- 
ding journey,"  he  thought,  as  the  rain  struck 
his  face  and  the  little  body  seemed  to  nestle 
the  closer  to  his  shoulder.  Darkness,  the  dark- 
ness of  storm  and  night,  had  shut  them  in. 

Zellaphine  was  at  the  gate  before  he  could 
alight. 

"You  have  found  her."  And  up  the 
drenched  path  she  led  the  way. 

He  bore  his  love  over  the  narrow  stairs  and 
laid  her  on  the  white  draped  bed.  Then,  awk- 
wardly, as  a  man  might,  he  loosened  the  cloak, 
untied  the  bonnet,  and  put  back  the  veil  from 
her  face. 

Death  had  come  to  her  too  quickly  for  a 
moment's  pang ;  and  there  he  left  her,  sweetly 
smiling  with  all  youth's  promises  of  joy.  Her 
mother  had  flung  herself  down  at  the  beloved 
feet,  and  Bela  Mayo  stumbled  heavily  up  the 
stairs. 


*.!*„  ^^- 

: 


XIV 

ON  the  morning  after  Polly's  death,  Rachel 
knocked  at  the  parsonage  door.  James 
Bristed  himself,  hat  in  hand  as  if  about  to  set 
forth,  answered  her  summons.  His  face  was 
white,  but  glowing  as  if  sealed  with  the  sign 
of  a  just  won  battle,  the  enemy  hardly  over 
the  border,  the  victor  swaying  with  the  an- 
guish of  the  fight. 

"  Rachel ! "  he  said,  quite  simply. 
"  Yes,  James.  Here  is  something  of  hers. 
We  found  it  by  her   bed.  Mrs.  Mayo  sent 
it  to  you." 

(149) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"Yes." 

As  Rachel  turned  quickly  away,  he  took 
the  package  to  his  study,  and  opened  it  with 
fingers  that  may  have  trembled  a  little  as 
might  a  tense  cord  but  then  relaxed.  It  was 
her  girl's  Bible  :  "  From  Father  and  Mother 
to  Polly  on  her  tenth  birthday."  And  be- 
tween the  leaves  were  two  letters :  his  to 
her,  sent  before  that  wilderness  of  time  that 
marked  the  gulf  of  yesterday,  and  one  that 
she  had  written  and  addressed  to  him  in  the 
soft  gush  of  her  joy  at  the  reading  of  it.  She 
had  not  trusted  to  the  uncertainty  of  their 
meeting  ;  this,  in  any  event,  should  go  to  him. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Bristed,"  it  ran.  "  I  am  only 
Polly.  But  I  think  — I  am  your  Polly." 

And  here  was  the  end  of  it  all. 

"  James !  "  There  came  a  soft  tap  at  the 
door. 

"  Yes,  mother."  He  opened  to  her,  and  as 
the  tiny  woman  fluttered  up  to  him,  with 
streaming  eyes  and  hands  outstretched,  he  put 
his  arms  about  her.  "You  have  lost  your 
daughter,  dear,"  he  said  gently.  "  And  I — oh, 
(150) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


mother,  mother."  The  two  clung  close,  and 
he  bowed  his  head  over  her  white  curls. 

Aunt  Zellaphine  Mayo  had  been  the  min- 
istering angel  at  many  a  door  of  birth  and 
death, — her  "babies"  she  called  the  genera- 
tion she  had  ushered  across  the  threshold ; 
and  no  one  ever  forgot,  who  had  received  it, 
the  inspired  service  of  her  hands  and  heart 
when  irrevocable  grief  stood  without  and 
knocked.  As  high  emotion  always  carried  her 
above  the  level  of  her  carping  mind,  so  now 
the  flood  of  piteous  neighborly  sympathy  rose 
high  and  washed  away  the  memory  of  the 
pin-prick  injuries  she  had  done  them ;  and 
there  was  but  one  thought  in  town  :  somehow 
to  give  comfort  —  where  comfort  there  seemed 
none  —  to  Zellaphine  and  heart-broken  Bela 
Mayo. 

Rachel  had  been  of  the  party  in  the  boat, 
and  had  escaped  with  a  thorough  wetting. 
When  they  knew  Polly  had  gone,  her  first 
thought  was  for  Zellaphine,  and,  without  wait- 
ing for  the  others,  she  had  asked  her  young 
kinsman  Josiah  Seabury  to  drive  her  home. 
(151) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  They  will  find  her ;  I  know  they  must  find 
her,"  she  had  said  to  him.  "  And  I  must  be 
ready  to  go  to  Aunt  Zellaphine." 

But  she  had  had  a  chill  before  Azubah 
could  strip  her  wet  clothes  from  her,  and, 
willy-nilly,  had  been  put  to  bed  in  blankets 
and  with  a  hot  drink.  Josiah  Seabury  heard 
the  news  of  James  Bristed's  solitary  drive, 
and  then,  according  to  promise,  returned  to 
tell  her  that  Polly  was  found.  She  had  risen 
on  the  moment. 

"  I  am  perfectly  well,  and  warm,  and  strong," 
she  had  announced  to  the  protesting  Azubah. 
"  And  you  may  tell  Mike  to  put  the  horse  in 
the  chaise,  for  I  am  going  to  Aunt  Zellaphine." 

She  had  found  Bela  fumbling  about  the 
kitchen,  impelled  by  some  instinct  that  tea 
was  required ;  and  then  she  went  to  the  little 
white  room  above,  where  Zellaphine  met  her 
as  one  turned  to  stone. 

"  Oh,  the  white  sand  in  her  hair,  the  white 
sand,"  she  kept  saying  over  and  over. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Zellaphine,  you  must  let  me 
help  you,"  said  Rachel  gently. 
(152) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Zellaphine  had  done  no  more  than  hold  the 
dear  head  to  her  mother's  breast  and  try  to 
smooth  the  tangled  curls.  Together  the  two 
women  disrobed  the  little  form  that  lay  there 
like  an  exquisite  marble  copy  of  its  rosy  youth, 
and  dried  the  curls,  and  softly  brushed  them 
free.  When  their  work  was  done,  hand  in  hand 
they  stood  and  gazed  upon  their  Polly,  who 
was  no  longer  Polly,  but  such  an  image  of 
shining  peace  as  it  is  not  often  given  mortals 
to  see. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  whispered  Zellaphine. 
"  Where  has  she  gone  ?  " 

"  It  is  as  if  she  were  trying  to  tell  us  that 
she 's  happy,"  said  Rachel. 

She,  too,  wondered,  as  had  all  the  race  of 
men,  at  the  detachment  of  the  dead,  at  the 
exclusive  joy  of  their  withdrawal,  at  the  seal 
of  transcendent  peace  that  marks  the  familiar 
creature  as  already  the  free  citizen  of  another 
world  than  ours.  Then  she  slipped  downstairs 
to  find  Bela  Mayo  and  send  him  to  his 
wife. 

Among  the  mourners  at  Polly's  funeral  was 
(153) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


John  Dillingham,  who  had  arrived  that  morn- 
ing ;  and  with  him  was  a  small,  handsome, 
middle-aged  man,  of  fine  dress  and  manner, 
who  looked  to  be  a  foreigner.  In  the  long 
train  of  the  villagers,  who  passed  slowly 
through  the  parlor  where  the  "Southern 
Harp"  still  was  open  on  the  seraphine,  the 
two  stood  and  looked  down  upon  the  girl  that 
lay  there,  decked  as  if  for  her  bridal  in  a  fairy 
web  wrought  by  the  patient  fingers  of  the 
Orient,  the  tiny  hands  crossed,  the  dark  curls 
making  a  nest  for  the  flowerlike  head.  John, 
splendid  in  his  height  and  bronzed  man's 
beauty,  paused  a  full  minute  as  if  he  were 
recalling  all  the  memories  of  her  past  sweet 
wilf  ulness  to  fit  the  image  of  content  he  saw. 

"  Where  is  she?  "  whispered  he,  as  had  the 
mother. 

"  Ciel!  she  is  beautiful,"  murmured  the 
man  at  his  side.  "  Heaven  has  her  ! '' 

The  two  gave  place  to  Mary  Tilt,  who  had 
fitted  the  trailing  embroideries  to  the  girlish 
figure  to  celebrate  some  midsummer  festival. 

"  Who  would  ha*  thought  it ! "  she  moaned. 
(154) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Who  would  ha'  thought  this  was  to  be  the 
end!" 

No  one  of  them  ever  forgot  James  Bristed 
as  he  looked  that  day,  —  an  inspired  youth 
of  eld  come  to  tell  them  that  God  reigned,  a 
God  of  love  to  everlasting,  a  Father  to  poor 
humanity.  "  0  grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  " 
With  uplifted  hand  and  head  thrown  back,  he 
summoned  all  mortality  to  answer.  "  Heaven 
has  her,"  the  little  foreigner  had  said.  And  as 
they  listened  to  James  Bristed's  message  from 
the  infinite,  their  sore  hearts  warmed  with  the 
faith  that  Heaven  should  encompass  them  all 
then  and  now  and  thereafter. 


XV 

FOR  Rachel,  Polly's  death  was  the  cutting 
of  the  last  strand  that  moored  her  to 
youth.  Abloom  with  life,  she  knew  that  the 
ecstasy  of  dawn,  the  thrill  of  singing  birds, 
the  dewy  beauty  that  heralds  day,  were  gone ; 
nor  was  she  ready  for  the  fulness  of  storm  or 
sun  that  should  follow.  Scotto's  silence  had 
borne  its  fruit  of  insight;  but  not  even  to 
herself  did  she  whisper  that  here  was  not  all 
sorrow.  She  did  not  believe  that  he  was  dead, 
nor,  in  the  clairvoyant  vision  that  came  from 
the  night-long  vigils  that  looked  into  the  plan 
(156) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


of  his  life  and  hers,  could  she  see  that  harm 
had  befallen ;  yet,  still  less,  could  she  see 
him  by  her  side  again,  though  somewhere 
in  the  hidden  ways  of  earth  she  knew  him 
to  be. 

"It  is  ended,"  she  told  herself.  And  she  re- 
membered a  sermon  James  Bristed  had  preached 
one  autumn,  with  the  one  phrase,  "  the  sum- 
mer is  ended,"  beating  through  it  in  a  steady 
rhythm  of  finality.  "  Yes,  the  summer  is  ended," 
she  assured  herself,  and  looked  into  winter's 
peace.  "And  the  spring?"  her  heart  whis- 
pered. But  she  put  that  aside  in  the  fragrant 
treasure-chest  where  unadmitted  thoughts  are 
locked. 

On  an  early  morning,  John  Dillingham  came 
to  pay  his  respects  to  Cap'n  Elkanah,  and  the 
talk  was  chiefly  of  his  companion. 

"You  may  guess  all  day,  sir,"  declared 
John,  "and  then  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  who 
he  is.  No  less  than  the  French  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Zellaphine  Mayo.  Rene  Rousseau,  if  you 
please,  son  of  Jean  and  nephew  of  the  Rene 
you  brought  from  France,  who  married  Susan 
(157) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Freeman,  and  was  father  of  Zellaphine,  and  was 
lost  on  the  Wild  Ranger" 

11  And  now  we  shall  know  the  mystery  of 
Rene  Rousseau." 

"  No  mystery,  sir.  His  grandmother  was  an 
aristocrat,  and  his  grandfather  had  offended 
the  citoyen  who  happened  to  be  on  top  in  the 
particular  revolutionary  scrimmage  at  Havre, 
— Jacques  Rousseau  was  his  name.  He  was 
locked  up  and  he  believed  they  meant  to  kid- 
nap Rene,  so  he  got  his  wife  to  waylay  you. 
His  own  escape  was  planned;  he  had  secured 
some  of  his  property  —  he  was  a  well-to-do 
merchant  —  and  he  meant  to  follow  with  her 
and  the  baby  by  another  boat.  But  Madam 
Guillotine  got  them  both,  and  the  baby,  Jean, 
was  rescued  by  his  nurse  and  brought  up  as 
her  son.  Meantime,  no  one  knew  how  to  find 
Rene ;  but  the  nurse  told  Jean  about  his 
brother  who  had  gone  to  America,  and  when 
he  grew  up  and  married  he  named  his  son 
Rene.  But  no  trace  could  they  find  of  a  ship 
sailing  on  that  date." 

"  I  took  good  care  of  that,"  responded  Cap'n 
(158) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Elkanah  grimly.  "I  marvel  even  now  that  I 
got  out  of  that  wolf's  den  with  my  life  and 
the  gold  for  my  cargo.  The  officers  there  had 
a  grudge  against  me.  But  it  was  a  good  voy- 
age, and  not  many  captains  earned  their  salt 
at  a  French  port  that  year." 

"Those  were  great  days,  sir,"  said  John. 
"  And  it  was  Citizen  Robespierre  that  saved 
the  Dillinghams.  If  grandfather  hadn't  got 
that  safe-conduct  and  used  it  as  he  did,  we  'd 
have  come  to  an  end  then  and  there." 

"  The  young  dare-devil,"  assented  Elkanah. 
"  To  go  back  to  Paris  again  just  to  see  how 
things  were  going." 

"  Well,  he  did  n't  need  to  see  more  than 
Robespierre's  head  falling  into  the  basket.  He 
beat  that  news  to  the  barricade  —  and  here 
we  are." 

"  But  where  in  the  world  did  you  pick  up 
Rene  the  second  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  got  caught  in  a  hurricane,  beating 

up  through  the  islands  to  Hong  Kong,  —  got 

into  the  middle  of  it,  in  fact.  Ever  get  the 

feel  of  that,  sir?    Calm  as  a  May  morning, 

(159) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


•with  considerable  going  on  outside.  But  we 
managed  to  head  her  through  somehow,  and 
put  in  at  an  island  thereabouts  to  look  'round 
and  get  our  breath."  John  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment. "  Little  settlement  there.  Rousseau  had 
hit  it  while  cruising  'round  some  of  the  islands 
— he  belongs  to  a  big  French  house.  Those 
Wee-Wees,  the  natives  call  'em,  are  trying  to 
beat  up  a  trade  down  there,  but  I  guess  they  '11 
do  well  to  use  our  clippers  for  a  while  yet." 
John  paused  again.  "Well,  I  took  him  to 
Hong  Kong.  Of  course  his  name  was  familiar. 
We  got  talking,  and  we  talked  a  good  deal 
about  Bradford.  The  upshot  of  it  was  that  he 
concluded  to  come  home  with  me  to  see  his 
relatives,  and  then  take  ship  back  to  Havre." 

Rachel  and  her  mother  came  in  here,  and 
the  story  was  repeated. 

"  And  he  never  saw  Polly ! "  sighed  Rachel. 

"  Ah,  but  he  did,"  said  John.  "And  never 
did  I  see  a  man  so  moved.  '  The  last  of  us 
all,'  he  kept  saying.  '  The  last  of  us  all.'  He 
is  a  bachelor,  you  know.  This  morning  he  's 
gone  over  to  make  himself  known  to  the 
(160) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Mayos,  and  you'll  probably  be  seeing  him 
here  soon." 

John  had  greeted  Rachel  easily  enough ; 
but  although  he  had  risen  to  leave  when  she 
said  she  must  be  going  to  the  village  for  an 
errand,  he  seemed  unwontedly  shy  as  they 
walked  up  the  lane  together.  He  turned  off 
into  the  path  that  led  across  the  fields  to  the 
Dillingham  house,  and,  as  they  parted  at  the 
stile,  he  slipped  a  packet,  addressed  to  her  in 
his  flowing  hand,  into  her  reticule. 

"Open  it  when  you  are  alone,  Rachel,"  was 
all  he  said,  and  hurried  off  across  the  meadow. 

It  was  late  afternoon,  when  they  had  fin- 
ished their  tea  and  Mrs.  Caroline  had  gone  to 
confer  with  Asenath  and  Cap'n  Elkanah  was 
smoking  his  evening  cigar  in  the  west  flower- 
garden,  that  the  leisure  moment  came  for  her 
to  break  the  seal.  She  was  sitting  in  the  winged 
chair  by  her  chamber  window,  and  in  the 
meadow  garden  below  a  bird  was  trying  over 
and  over  again  his  mating-song,  as  if  he  im- 
provised trills  and  roulades  that  never  before 
had  been  sung  to  a  soft  gray  love.  "  Listen," 
(161) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


he  seemed  to  say.  "  This  is  the  way  the  thrush 
or  nightingale  does  it,  but  I  add  this,  and  this, 
for  the  very  love  of  love." 

As  she  opened  the  packet,  Scotto  Clark's 
hand  stared  back  at  her  from  the  familiar  let- 
ters of  her  name.  Mechanically,  she  broke  the 
wafer  and  unfolded  the  big  square  sheets. 
"Dear  Cousin  Rachel,"  she  read,  and  then 
crossed  her  hands  over  the  pages  and  paused 
as  if  to  listen  the  more  intently  to  the  end  of 
the  bird's  singing.  But  her  thoughts  had 
travelled  back  through  the  years  to  a  little 
boy  with  bright  gold  curls  tumbling  about 
his  handsome  face,  who  had  taught  her  some 
of  his  city  games,  and  it  had  been  "  Cousin 
Rachel,"  and  "  Cousin  Rachel,"  all  through 
the  summer  hours. 

"  DEAR  COUSIN  RACHEL."  Then,  charac- 
teristically, he  jumped  into  the  heart  of 
things.  "Perhaps  I'm  off  on  the  right  tack 
at  last,  the  best  one  for  both  of  us.  I  'm  a 
poor  fellow,  after  all,  and  not  calculated  to 
make  a  woman  happy,  —  least  of  all  you,  with 
(162) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


your  dove's  eyes  and  white  soul,  and  that 
cool,  grave  look  you  have.  That 's  the  look 
you  've  had  for  me,  Cousin  Ray.  Yet  some- 
times, I  do  protest,  I  believe  you've  never 
loved  me  or  any  man,  but  have  just  been 
angel  sorry  for  a  poor  scapegrace  who  could 
seem  to  steer  a  straight  course  only  with  you 
shining  out  of  the  heavens  for  him.  But  I  'm 
off  now,  dear  Ray,  and  I  'm  off  for  good.  And 
I  'm  not  sorry  for  you,  for  I  'm  not  the  right 
one  and  the  right  one  will  come. 

"  Where  am  I  now?  I  'm  king  of  a  South 
Sea  Island.  Laugh  if  you  will ;  but  I  think  my 
little  job  is  staked  out  here,  and,  Lord,  Ray, 
enough  fun  thrown  in  to  keep  a  dozen  men  at 
the  laugh.  So  laugh  you,  too,  if  you  like,  and 
I  '11  laugh  with  you. 

"The  devil  got  hold  of  me  at  Hamburg. 
You  know,  that  particular  devil  of  mine,  that 
makes  me  kick  over  the  traces  and  bolt  for 
the  open.  I  'd  done  father's  business  to  a 
turn,  so  I  ran  down  to  Antwerp.  There  John 
Dillingham  saw  me.  But  instead  of  shipping 
for  home,  I  went  on  to  Amsterdam,  slipped  in 
(163) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


as  mate  on  a  South  Sea  tramp,  —  all  i  ja-f or- 
yes ;  men  aboard  but  me.  And  I  tell  you  a 
little  Yankee  seamanship  shined  up  bright 
before  the  end  of  that  voyage,  which  proved 
to  be  at  an  island  not  put  down  on  our 
seventeen  hundred  and  something  charts,  and 
I  was  the  only  one  of  the  company  that  made 
port.  We  had  managed  to  get  too  near  a  ty- 
phoon, which  pitched  us  all  overboard  and 
sent  the  poor  old  tramp  to  the  bottom.  I  came 
up  safely,  got  hold  of  some  boards  which  floated 
me  till  sundown.  Then  I  somehow  lashed  'em 
crosswise,  climbed  up  on  'em,  and  paddled  along 
toward  the  opening  of  a  reef  that  fetched  'round 
a  neighboring  island.  Here  a  boatful  of  na- 
tives met  me  head  on.  They  evidently  took 
me  for  the  high  panjandrum  of  the  sea,  and  I 
took  to  them  as  the  nearest  humans  likely  to 
know  the  whereabouts  of  food  and  lodging. 
For  this  was  my  second  day  out  on  the  loose 
and  food  looked  good  to  me.  I  had  time  to 
hope  I  did  n't  look  good  to  them  as  food.  But 
they  proved  as  mild  as  cocoanut  milk,  and 
kowtowed  and  salaamed,  and  I  put  on  the 
(164) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


high  and  mighty  as  well  as  I  could  on  my 
cross-bars.  They  took  me  into  the  boat,  and 
now  I  live  in  a  palace  of  sorts  and  institute 
reforms.  And  I  've  managed  to  knock  up  a 
good  little  trade  with  Sydney  in  cocoa-oil. 
And  Rene  Rousseau,  Heaven  bless  him !  thinks 
he  can  turn  something  French  my  way.  And 
I  'm  sending  a  prodigal-son  letter  to  father 
which  John  Dillingham  will  back  up  with  talk. 
We  've  got  enough  pearl  and  tortoise  shell  here 
for  all  hands  and  the  cook,  besides  the  cocoanut. 
And,  Ray,  /  've  found  my  place.  And  that 
I  Ve  kept  the  straight  course  long  enough  to 
find  it  is  due  to  you,  dear  coz;  and  that  I 
mean  to  sail  the  bowline  now,  make  this  little 
kingdom  as  good  as  a  Sunday-school  and  as 
busy  as  an  ant-hill  is  owing  to  you,  too.  And 
I  'm  thinking  of  setting  up  your  image  in  the 
temple  in  place  of  Kerasheranoo,  or  something 
else  like  a  sneeze,  who  holds  the  job  now.  I 
don't  know  why  I  should  n't  begin  to  send  'em 
along  to  heaven  by  that  road  as  well  as  an- 
other. Now  you  're  shocked.  But  you  know  I 
ain't  half  civilized,  —  except  my  clothes,  and 
(165) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


those  are  Sydney-cut  now,  —  though  I  'd  like 
to  be  in  order  to  run  this  little  farm  accord- 
ing to  Hervey.  Remember  gran'ther  's  always 
taking  to  that  old  duck  in  the  spring?  If  he 
planted  a  flower-garden  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord,  why  should  n't  I  run  a  palm  island  ?  A 
letter  goes  to  father  by  John.  I  hope  he  sees 
the  light  of  reason,  which  he  never  yet  has 
done  when  it  illuminated  my  particular  manly 
frame.  Perhaps  you  can  put  in  a  word  for  me 
there,  dear  Ray,  and  with  gran'ther,  too,  for 
you  've  always  understood  me  from  a  to  zed, 
and  you  '11  be  reading  this  just  right  now. 
And  forgive  me  and  be  grateful  to  me,  and 
I'm  now  and  have  been  and  ever  shall  be, 
world  without  end, 

"  Your  devoted  cousin, 

«SCOT."  : 

Rachel  gave  a  little  gasp  as  she  finished 
the  document.  She  folded  it  carefully,  and 
sat  a  moment  looking  out  into  the  garden, 
which  was  filled  with  beauty,  like  a  chalice 
brimming  with  the  wine  of  life.  Then  she 
(166) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


rose  to  go  downstairs  with  her  news.  As  she 
reached  the  door,  she  burst  into  a  low  laugh, 
and,  with  a  shining  face  of  joy,  ran  down  like 
a  child  who  has  escaped  from  some  undue 
necessity. 

She  found  Caroline  and  Cap'n  Elkanah  in 
the  flower-garden  room,  and  as  the  dark, 
odorous  with  the  breath  of  evening  roses, 
shut  them  in,  she  told  her  story. 

"  Bless  you  for  a  wise  child,  now  and  al- 
ways my  comfort-child,"  was  Cap'n  Elkanah's 
good-night  to  her. 


XVI 

EENlS  Rousseau  knocked  boldly  at  the 
Mayo  door,  and  was  greeted  by  Mrs. 
Zellaphine. 

"  Nothing  to-day,  sir,"  she  said  shortly. 
As  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  on  the  big  door- 
stone,  she  made  sure  that  his  pack  was  con- 
cealed somewhere  in  the  lilac  hedge. 

"  I  come  to  you,  madame"  said  he,  in  a  pre- 
cise accent  that  cut  the  words  clean  as  with  a 
knife, — "I  come  to  you  as  a  kinsman  from  over 
the  sea.  At  this  moment  of  your  sorrow,  I  offer 
you  my  deep  respect.  I  am  Rene  Rousseau." 
(168) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Rene  Rousseau  ! "  gasped  Zellaphine. 
"  Why,  he  —  " 

"  He  was  your  father,  madame,  and  I  am  his 
nephew,  a  second  Rene." 

As  if  she  doubted  that  this  were  not  Rene 
of  the  Wild  danger  come  to  revisit  the  habi- 
tude of  his  youth,  Zellaphine  led  the  way  into 
the  parlor,  one  of  the  few  in  town  which  were 
not  sacred  to  the  great  occasions  of  life.  She 
and  Polly  had  used  it  familiarly,  as  the  pleas- 
antest  room  they  had ;  and  as  a  neighbor, 
passing  by  beyond  the  lilacs,  nodded  to  them 
sewing  there,  the  instinctive  Bradford  com- 
ment must  be :  "  Blood  will  tell.  French  they 
are  and  will  be.  Only  best  room  in  town  clut- 
tered up  with  sewing  and  such."  Zellaphine 
had  opened  all  the  windows  to  the  sun,  and, 
when  Rene's  knock  had  roused  her,  had  been 
standing  there,  with  hands  tightly  clasped, 
looking  at  Polly's  lacquered  sewing-table,  and 
seeing  nothing  but  the  image  of  her  grief. 

"  She  seems  nearest  to  me  here,"  she  had 
said  aloud.  "  But  I  must  n't  think  yet.  I  got 
my  work  cut  out  with  Bela." 
(169) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Already  the  impact  of  sorrow  was  uniting 
the  husband  and  wife :  she  was  opening  all 
the  treasures  of  her  heart  for  him,  and  he  was 
clinging  to  her  like  a  bewildered  child  who 
craves  the  warm  ease  of  his  mother's  care. 
Even  in  these  few  days  she  had  coaxed  him 
to  the  small  duties  that  somehow  lead  us  past 
the  black  deeps  of  grief,  and  that  morning  she 
had  sent  him  out  to  the  garden  to  look  after 
their  early  peas. 

"  I  must  call  Bela,"  she  said,  when  Rene 
Rousseau  was  duly  established. 

And  when  the  two  men  had  shaken  hands, 
and  Rene  had  again  proffered  a  sympathy 
whose  warmth  irradiated  his  formal  manner, 
they  returned  to  the  impersonal  stories  of  those 
old  days  of  the  Terror  when  the  elder  Rene 
had  sailed  to  America  with  Elkanah  Clark. 

"  I  shall  pay  my  respects  to  the  Captain 
Elkanah,  you  call  him  ?  "  said  Rene.  "  It  was 
a  noble  heart  that  must  so  instantly  shelter  a 
little  child.  We  owe  him  much." 

"  You  '11  get  none  better  than  Elkanah 
Clark,"  said  Bela. 

(170) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"And  that  reminds  me.  I  have  not  told 
you,  no?  I  came  with  Captain  Dillingham,  it 
is  true,  but  already  I  had  heard  of  you.  There 
was  a  fine  young  gentleman  managing  that 
island  where  we  met,  a  Monsieur  Scotto." 

"Scot  Clark!"  breathed  Zellaphine. 

"Exactly.  A  fine  man,  a  splendid  man. 
You  should  see  him  rule  those  natives,  gentle 
souls,  but,  one  may  guess,  with  the  treachery 
of  the  savage.  Love  and  fear  well  mingled  — 
there  is  the  secret  of  his  power.  They  know 
their  master,  who  makes  it  most  comfortable 
for  them  to  be  good.  Yet  a  warm  heart  — 
they  feel  that  —  and  just.  And  doing  it  all 
with  a  laugh,  like  a  boy  playing  at  soldiers. 
A  keen  mind,  also.  He  will  build  up  a  trade, 
you  shall  see." 

"  Scott  to  a  T.  What  'd  he  say  about  com- 
ing home?" 

"  He  regarded  Monte  Verde  as  his  home,  I 
infer." 

"  That   jumping-off    place  !    Mention  any 
friend  in  particular  ?  "  Zellaphine's  busy  mind 
was  off  like  a  bird-dog  scenting  quail. 
(171) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  In  the  warm  nights  we  talked  much  of 
this  little  town." 

"  Anything  said  of  Rachel  Sears  ?  " 

"  Assuredly.  The  granddaughter  of  our 
Captain  Elkanah,  is  it  not  ?  A  pearl  of  women, 
he  told  me.  A  dearly  loved  kinswoman." 

"Well,  I '11  be  switched  ! "  was  Zellaphine's 
comment. 

Bela  had  gone  to  the  window,  where  he 
stood  smoothing  his  hair  with  a  clumsy  hand, 
a  way  he  had  when  bearings  were  uncertain. 
In  these  days,  unless  he  were  roused  by  some 
sharp  contact  of  the  concrete,  his  mind  would 
be  off  roaming  in  a  gloom  where  there  was 
no  Polly. 

"What  you  think  o'  this,  Bela?"  said  Zella- 
phine,  in  a  high-pitched,  recalling  tone. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know,  Zellie,"  he 
answered  absently. 

"  Well,  I  know,  and  I  say  it 's  the  beateree 
of  all  that 's  happened  in  Bradford  yet.  King 
o'  the  Cannibal  Islands,  that 's  what  Scot  Clark 
is.  He  and  Cap'n  Dillingham  friendly?"  she 
asked  quickly,  turning  to  the  little  French- 
(172) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


man,  who  sat  there  balancing  his  shaggy  bea- 
ver on  his  knees  and  looking  from  husband  to 
wife  in  polite  interrogation.  Under  the  lash  of 
this  amazing  news,  she  was  regaining  a  sem- 
blance of  her  old  vivacity. 

"Doubtless,"  replied  the  suave  Rene.  "They 
met  with  ceremony,  and  parted  with  expres- 
sions of  mutual  esteem." 

"  Hum  !  "  commented  she. 

Monsieur  Rousseau  rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  I  come  at  a  sad  time,  my  kinsmen,  and 
with  a  heart  of  sorrow  for  your  sorrow.  I  go  to 
your  great  city  to  transact  affairs  which  I  make 
there.  But  I  return  before  sailing  for  France, 
when  I  beg  again  to  pay  you  my  respects." 

"You  are  kind,  sir,"  said  Bela,  the  native 
courtesy  of  his  heart  touched  by  such  proffered 
sympathy.  "  It  is  a  dark  time  with  us.  We 
would  make  you  more  welcome  if  we  could. 
But  Zellaphine  and  I  —  "  he  paused  and  his 
lip  quivered.  Such  short  days  ago  it  had  been 
always  " Polly  and  I "  —  "Zellaphine  and  I  are 
grateful,  sir.  We  shall  hope  to  see  you  return- 
ing." 

(173) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"So  that  is  Rene  Rousseau,"  said  Zella- 
phine,  as  she  watched  the  erect,  courtly  figure 
walking  away  under  the  willows  that  over- 
arched the  road. 

Even  now  she  could  think  of  but  one  Rene, 
and  there  returned  to  her  some  dim  picture 
of  childish  imaginings.  She  had  belonged  so 
wholly  to  Bradford  that  Rene  Rousseau  had 
seemed  to  her  a  creature  of  romance,  in  no 
way  responsible  for  her  small  being, — a  fairy 
prince,  who  might  return,  perhaps,  to  bear 
her  away  in  a  crystal  coach.  She  had  listened 
eagerly  to  stories  of  the  great  Revolution, 
which  had  swept  him  —  small  driftwood  from 
such  disaster  —  to  the  far  shores  of  America. 
And  Rene  Rousseau  might  be  any  one,  —  a 
"markis,"  a  lord,  why  not  the  king's  son, 
whom  Cap'n  Elkanah  never  would  believe  had 
been  killed  ?  A  king's  son :  then  must  she  be 
the  Princess  Zellaphine.  But  the  little  girl,  for 
all  her  chattering, — she  had  gone  no  farther 
than  the  first  Murray  when  her  mates  recognized 
that  Zellie  Rousseau  could  n't  keep  a  secret, — 
never  told  any  one  of  her  dreams.  It  had  been 
(174) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


long  years  since  she  had  even  thought  of  them. 
And  here  was  no  Prince  Charming,  but  a  re- 
spectable, middle-aged  French  merchant. 

"  That  Rene  Rousseau  !  "  said  Zellaphine 
again.  She  turned  from  the  window,  and  the 
first  faint  watery  smile  broke  through  the  dark- 
ness of  her  grief. 

At  dusk  the  next  day,  Rene  was  paying  his 
visit  of  acknowledgment  to  Elkanah  Clark. 

"  Marie,  my  father's  nurse,"  he  was  saying, 
—  "  she  taught  him  to  call  her  mother  for 
safety:  grandmere  she  was  to  me,  —  Marie 
told  me  that  my  grandmother  said  to  her  when 
she  returned  from  the  waterside  that  night : 
'  He  has  a  kind  voice,  that  American,  and  a 
strong  arm.  We  have  not  been  deceived  in  him. 
He  held  my  little  Rene  as  a  father  might  have 
done.  Ah,  Marie,  what  if  we  should  all  be 
happy  over  there  in  another  twelvemonth ! ' 
But  in  the  morning  she  was  taken  off  to  prison, 
and  Marie  fled  to  her  people  in  the  country 
with  my  father,  her  foster  child.  But  she  al- 
ways reminded  Jean  Rousseau  that  he  was  of 
the  noblesse  —  Amelie  de  Lisieux  had  married 
(175) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


far  below  her  rank,  and  she  dragged  down 
her  husband  when  the  storm  burst.  Marie 
managed  an  education  somehow, — there  were 
other  gentlefolk  living  as  peasants  in  that  re- 
mote village;  an  uncle  in  Havre  recovered 
himself  when  waters  were  smooth  once  more ; 
we  became  merchants,  reaching  out  always  for 
foreign  trade.  I  went  to  the  East  to  see  for 
myself  its  riches ;  chance  led  me  to  that  small 
Monte  Verde  where  I  met  the  energetic  grand- 
son, Monsieur  Scotto,  and  your  Captain  Dill- 
ingham.  And  here  you  see  me,  Captain  Clark, 
your  very  grateful  debtor  for  the  benefits  you 
confer  upon  my  kin, — my  grandmother,  Ame- 
lie  de  Lisieux,  she  must  have  died  blessing  the 
strong  man  who  so  unquestioningly  sheltered 
her  first  born;  and  my  uncle,  that  youth  so 
sadly  dying.  And  now  his  granddaughter,  the 
beautiful  child,  has  gone,  too.  Truly,  you  of 
these  coasts  pay  dread  toll  to  the  waters.  And 
here  am  I,  the  last  of  my  race,  to  do  you  hom- 
age. Accept  it,  I  beseech." 

The  two  men  were  sitting  in  the  old  pleas- 
aunce  by  the  flower-garden  room ;  and  Cap'n 
(176) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Elkanah  had  interrupted  the  flow  of  the 
other's  narrative  by  scarcely  a  question  or 
short  comment. 

"  Truly,  this  is  like  a  bit  of  France,"  said 
Rene',  as  he  paused  to  look  about  at  the  vase 
and  the  trim  borders  and  the  stone  balustrade 
that  confined  the  luxuriance  of  the  rosery. 
"And  you  the  grand  seigneur,"  he  added, 
bowing  to  the  man  beside  him. 

"  A  plain  American  farmer,  Monsieur  Rous- 
seau," said  old  Elkanah.  His  fine  face  shone 
in  the  golden  light  that  filtered  through  the 
althea  hedge,  and  he  looked  to  be  a  very  high 
personage  as  he  sat  there  in  his  garden,  his 
great  hands,  knotted  with  age,  crossed  on  the 
ivory  tiger-head  of  his  cane.  "  A  man  who 
has  ploughed  the  sea  and  the  land,  and  found 
much  joy  and  some  little  profit  to  his  soul." 

At  the  moment,  there  came  the  soft  clash  of 
feminine  voices,  and  Mrs.  Caroline  and  Ase- 
nath  Snow  appeared  in  the  arched  gateway 
that  opened  to  the  road.  With  their  grace 
and  flowing  draperies,  they  but  completed  the 
picture  of  an  olden  time.  Asenath,  in  her  first 
(177) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


youth,  had  never  looked  more  desirable  than 
she  did  as  she  stood  there  waiting  for  Caroline 
to  secure  the  gate.  Her  flowered  barege  opened 
prettily  over  embroidered  tucker  and  petticoat, 
her  cottage  bonnet  was  tied  down  with  a  lit- 
tle square  bow  that  framed  the  roundness  of 
her  chin,  her  brown  eyes  shone,  her  cheeks 
were  pink  with  the  excitement  of  discussing 
some  new  scheme  for  the  betterment  of  Brad- 
ford. She  had  drawn  off  her  gloves,  and  was 
smoothing  and  folding  them  with  her  strong 
white  hands.  They  turned,  and  Caroline  came 
floating  behind  her  up  the  path.  They  hesi- 
tated when  they  saw  the  men  in  the  rose  bower. 

"  My  daughter,  Mrs.  Sears,  our  friend,  Miss 
Asenath  Snow,"  Cap'n  Elkanah  named  them. 
"  Caroline,  this  is  Monsieur  Rene  Rousseau, 
nephew  of  that  Rene  who  was  your  elder 
brother.  Asenath,  you  are  welcome.  You  will 
be  glad  to  greet  one  who  should  be  our 
friend." 

The  four  stood  talking  a  moment  in  the 
dappled  shade  and  shine  of  the  little  garden. 

"  You  have  charming  women,  Captain 
(178) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Clark,"  said  Rene,  as  Asenath  and  Caroline 
disappeared  under  the  trellis  of  the  flower- 
garden  door.  "  France  knows  not  their  like." 

"  You  say  truly,  Monsieur  Rousseau.  They 
are  as  you  see  them  when  waters  are  smooth ; 
and  in  disaster,  staunch  and  true,  they  Ve 
fetched  many  a  poor  mariner  through  the 
storm.  My  grandchild  you  must  know  — " 

"Miss  Rachel:  I  have  heard,  —  a  pearl  of 
great  price.  Your  grandson,  Monsieur  Scotto, 
had  spoken  of  his  peerless  kinswoman,  his  tone 
all  reverence  and  devotion.  And  Captain  John, 
a  silent  man ;  but  one  could  see.  It  is  religion 
for  youth  to  know  such  women." 

"And  age,  also,  Monsieur  Rousseau.  She 
makes  the  great  Love  shine  bright  for  fading 
eyes." 

The  two  talked  on  of  life  and  death  and 
their  rewards  through  the  waning  light,  and 
when  the  night  came,  Rene  rose  to  make 
his  adieux. 

"  Affairs  take  you  to  the  city,  as  you  say, 
Monsieur  Rousseau,"  said  Elkanah.  "  That  is 
as  it  should  be.  As  an  honor,  I  shall  commend 
(179) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


you  especially  to  my  sons,  good  men,  fair  mer- 
chants all.  We  should  be  friends,  we  and  you 
Frenchmen.  Perhaps  you  and  I  can  do  our  part 
toward  strengthening  the  old  bonds,  not  for 
war  now,  please  God,  but  in  amity  and  for  the 
peaceful  interchange  of  the  goods  in  which 
each  excels.  Clark  here,  Rousseau  there,  — 
who  knows  what  we  may  not  do  ?  Go  now, 
but  return  as  our  guest,  if  only  briefly,  a  new 
son  of  the  house." 


XVII 

BRADFORD  had  settled  down  to  a  mid- 
summer  quietude.  The  news  from  Scotto 
Clark  was  hardly  a  nine-days'  wonder ;  nor,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  could  it  he  as  surprising 
here  as  in  some  inland  village,  for  town  gos- 
sips were  inured  to  hearing  marvellous  tales 
from  overseas.  General  Philander  Paine  voiced 
the  general  opinion  :  — 

"Scot  Clark  's  found  his  proper  job  :  king 

of  an  island  where  there  's  plenty  to  do  and  no 

drifting  to  next  port  is  what  he 's  built  for ; 

and  there  the  Lord,  in  His  wisdom,  has  steered 

(181) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


him.  And  we  don't  need  to  worry  about 
Rachel  Sears.  Guess  it  'd  always  been  Rachel's 
trick  at  the  wheel  and  a  good  deal  o'  slatting 
canvas.  And  no  hearts  broke  either  side,  or  I 
miss  my  guess.  Give  us  time  and  fair  winds, 
and  we  '11  see  what  we  shall  see  before  the  end 
of  this  cruise." 

They  were  seeing  very  little  out  of  the  or- 
dinary. John  and  Rene  Rousseau  had  left  al- 
most immediately  for  the  city,  and  Rachel 
was  speaking  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  of  Scotto 
and  his  prospects:  he  had  his  work  cut  out  for 
him  at  Monte  Verde,  and  Uncle  Crete  could 
turn  trade  his  way,  and  John  had  said  the 
island  might  prove  to  be  a  gold-mine. 

"Spirited  girl,  that  Rachel,"  said  Beriah 
Pratt,  in  the  relaxation  of  his  after-supper 
smoke.  "  Head  up  in  the  air  as  if  she  had  n't 
got  the  mitten." 

"Mitten  !  whose  mitten?"  snapped  Mrs. 
Beriah.  "  Rachel  never  said  in  so  many  words 
they  were  engaged,  and  if  they  were,  I  guess 
she 's  precious  glad  to  be  out  of  it.  If  she  'd 
given  her  word,  it  'd  have  taken  a  big  gale  to 
(182) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


break  her  moorings.  And  here  's  everything 
to  the  queen's  taste  and  no  fuss.  There  's  no 
hearts  broke,  and  you  can  take  my  word  for 
that,  Beriah  Pratt." 

There  was  the  gist  of  it :  Scot  had  found  his 
place,  there  were  no  hearts  broken,  and  later 
they  should  be  hearing  wedding-bells.  But  it 
seemed  unlikely  that  in  any  immediate  future 
they  should  hear  the  wedding-bells  for  which 
they  listened. 

John  had  stayed  ashore  but  two  weeks,  and 
then  had  taken  another  vessel  back  to  the  Far 
East  with  a  cargo  for  Singapore ;  and  his  re- 
turn cargo,  Mr.  Crete  Clark  had  directed,  was 
to  be  secured  at  Monte  Verde  Island, —  Scotto 
was  to  have  his  chance.  Rachel  had  met  John 
with  an  unaffected  gladness  from  which  an 
ardent  lover  could  have  drawn  small  comfort. 
But  John,  if  he  were  ardent,  had  the  patience 
of  one  who  has  learned  when  to  bank  his  fires 
and  try  the  fortunes  of  the  long  road.  There 
was  an  hour  for  blazing  beacons,  he  guessed, 
and  a  time  for  a  man  to  swing  along  in  the 
dusk  with  not  too  particular  a  regard  for 
(183) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


chance  and  change.  Carelessly,  almost,  he  had 
asked  Rachel's  permission  to  write  to  her,  and 
had  her  promise  that  she  would  send  him  the 
news  to  the  care  of  his  consignee  at  Singa- 
pore. What  more  natural  for  two  old  play- 
mates? She  had  written  to  him  on  his  first 
voyage  to  Australia:  he  had  the  letter  in  his 
wallet  with  ship's  papers  and  the  note  his 
mother  had  sent  him  when  he  shipped  as  hoy 
with  Cap'n  Beriah  Pratt  at  the  port  of  Boston. 

Rene  Rousseau  had  concluded  arrangements 
the  most  satisfactory  with  Cap'n  Elkanah's 
sons,  —  an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive, 
which  might  expand  into  a  great  international 
trading-house,  Clark  &  Rousseau.  Then  he 
had  returned  to  pay  his  sympathetic  respects 
to  his  afflicted  kinswoman,  Mrs.  Mayo,  and  to 
become  the  guest  of  Cap'n  Elkanah  Clark.  He 
had  protested  that  these  new  business  affairs 
should  return  him  to  Havre  at  the  first  con- 
venient sailing ;  but  whether  he  was  over-par- 
ticular as  to  his  ship,  or  for  another  reason, 
August  saw  him  lingering  on  at  Bradford. 

"Munseer  is  a  very  fine  gentleman,"  re- 
(184) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


marked  Bela  Mayo,  to  the  morning  assembly 
in  General  Paine's  back  shop.  "Not  many 
strangers  could  have  been  what  he 's  been  to 
Zellie  and  me.  A  fine  gentleman  and  a  fine 
man,  or  I  'm  out  o'  my  reckoning." 

"  It  looks  to  me,  General,  as  if  your  niece 
Asenath  might  agree  with  Bela,"  put  in  Be- 
riah  Pratt,  who  had  a  keen  eye  for  small 
eddies  in  the  current  of  diurnal  happenings. 

"  My  niece  Asenath,"  rejoined  Philander 
stoutly,  "has  as  good  a  headpiece  as  I  ever 
saw  —  good  for  brains  as  for  looks.  If  she 
thought  a  man  was  according  to  rule,  I  'd  vote 
him  in  at  the  next  election.  And  if  he  'd 
eyes  in  his  head,  he  'd  agree  with  me  about 
'Senath." 

"  How  about  relatives  in  France  ?  " 

"  Well,  France  is  n't  as  far  as  '  Melbun '  OP 
Rangoon,  and  Bradford  women  have  lived  on 
the  other  side  o'  the  world  before  now." 

"  Looks  to  me  's  if  they  had  your  bless- 
ing." 

"  Have  n't  been  asked.  But  when  you  ask 
me,  is  Rene  Rousseau  a  fine  man,  and  would 
(185) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


'Senath  know  one  if  she  saw  him,  I  say  yes, 
and  I  say  yes." 

"  And  enough  said  by  any  of  us,"  agreed 
Beriah.  "  Let  'em  work  it  out  themselves ; 
and  if  out  it  is,  here 's  to  hoping  they  live  in 
Bradford  the  best  part  o'  the  year,  and  bring 
up  the  children  to  be  Yankee  sailors." 

It  was  true  that  Monsieur  Rousseau  seemed 
to  find  the  box-bordered  path  to  Asenath's  fan- 
light door  a  pleasant  one  to  tread  in  these  sum- 
mer days.  There  was  an  elegance  about  her 
house,  a  space  and  precision,  that  refreshed  his 
dreams  of  well-earned  retirement  to  some  coun- 
try mansion.  A  merchant  he  was  in  the  prime 
of  his  days;  but  he  would  have  been  no  French- 
man had  he  not  pictured  a  tranquil  old  age 
lived  out  on  his  own  small  estate.  Asenath 
received  him  with  a  dignity  that  matched  her 
setting,  and  he  was  not  slow  in  recognizing 
many  qualities  that  French  tradition  demanded 
in  a  wife. 

Perhaps  his  heart  had  been  softened  to  an 
unwonted  sensibility  by  the  emotion  evoked 
at  this  time  of  mingled  sorrow  and  interest ; 
(186) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


and  he  had  been  surprised  that  it  was  not  too 
old  to  beat  a  little  faster  on  that  first  evening 
when  he  had  seen  Asenath's  placid  beauty  in 
Cap'n  Elkanah's  old  pleasaunce.  Perhaps  even 
then  the  question  "  Why  not  ? "  had  shyly 
presented  itself ;  and  it  had  not  taken  many 
weeks  of  consideration  for  him  to  assure  him- 
self that  there  was  no  impediment  under  heaven 
to  a  late  wooing  unless  it  were  a  possible  reluc- 
tance on  the  part  of  the  lady.  To  the  removal 
of  such  a  possibility,  he  was  devoting  all  his 
ingenuity  and  many  summer  hours,  as  Brad- 
ford had  not  been  slow  to  observe. 

He  would  not  have  been  French  if  he  had 
not  possessed  an  instinct  for  the  wiles  of  court- 
ship, but  he  had  the  wit  to  perceive  that  there 
would  be  no  easy  access  to  the  vestal  fastness 
where  his  lady  dwelt.  Asenath  had  constructed 
a  scheme  of  living  entirely  satisfactory  to  her- 
self ;  and  she  would  have  to  see  clear  and  co- 
gent reasons  for  giving  any  man  right  of  way 
to  her  inner  sanctuary.  James  Bristed  could 
have  told  Rene  that  she  was  never  averse 
to  sallying  forth  to  set  such  an  one  on  the 
(187) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


proper  road  she  had  descried  from  her  height; 
and  all  Bradford  had  for  her  hawklike  vision 
respect  tempered  by  the  perversity  that  pre- 
fers its  own  wandering  way  to  the  direct  path 
indicated  by  a  superior  intelligence.  But  Rene 
Rousseau  needed  no  one  to  tell  him  that  here 
there  should  be  no  veiling  of  realities  in  the 
glamour  of  romance;  and  he  set  himself  to 
painting  the  need  he  had  of  her  to  bring 
about  the  successful  issue  of  this  new  alliance 
of  Clark  &  Rousseau.  That,  he  knew,  was  his 
strong  card ;  if  she  came  at  all,  she  must  first 
be  lured  by  the  prospect  of  a  situation  where 
she  should  be  the  determining  factor  for  suc- 
cess. By  August  he  was  assuring  her  that  the 
new  undertaking  swung  upon  that  pivot. 

"Dear  Miss  Asenath,  I  am  French,  you 
American.  Do  you  not  perceive,  is  it  not  true, 
that  you  best  know  the  American  mind,  I  the 
French  ?  You  shall  interpret  for  me  any  diffi- 
culty there  might  be  with  these  Clarks  —  not 
that  one  looks  for  trouble,  no.  But  there  may 
have  to  be  soundings  taken  in  a  fog,  as  you 
seafarers  might  say." 

(188) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Asenath  assented  easily  enough  to  all  this : 
in  any  given  place  she  had  never  doubted  her 
usefulness. 

"  But  Havre,"  she  objected.  "  Here  is  my 
home." 

When  she  fell  back  upon  such  a  defence, 
he  dared  to  bring  up  his  reserves  of  sentiment, 
although  he  was  too  keen  an  antagonist  to 
alarm  her  by  paeans  of  victory. 

"  Miss  Asenath,  we  may  argue  as  we  will ; 
but  it  is  your  incomparable  self  I  covet,  your 
beautiful  and  complete  womanhood,  your  warm 
heart,  your  judgment ;  and  I  love  you  too  hon- 
orably to  demand  of  you  cruel  sacrifice.  But 
need  it  be  so  ?  As  you  say,  here  is  your  home, 
there  must  be  mine.  Yet  is  not  the  ocean  for 
you  sea-folk  rather  the  road  that  connects  than 
the  insuperable  wall  ?  And  this  new  business 
will  often  set  one  upon  that  road.  There  is  the 
great  house  at  Havre.  Why  should  we  not  live 
there  as  one  might  in  your  city  of  Boston  ? 
Yes  ?  And  here,  for  the  present,  shall  be  our 
country  estate.  Havre  and  Bradford.  And 
when  it  comes  to  old  age,  does  a  man  not  re- 
(189) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


tire  to  the  country?  French  or  American,  we 
will  determine  then.  French  ways  are  not  too 
unlike  the  elegant  manners  of  your  home ;  and 
you  have  the  language  to  the  perfection  of  a 
nicety,  thanks  to  your  studies  with  Madame 
Sears."  The  little  Frenchman  was  transfigured 
with  the  earnestness  of  his  manly  desire ;  and 
he  looked  a  very  courtly  wooer  as  he  rose  and 
held  out  his  hands  to  her  in  supplication. 
"Dear  lady,"  he  cried,  "I  throw  argument 
away.  I  lean  only  upon  the  soft  mercies  of 
your  heart." 

Asenath  also  rose,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Monsieur Rousseau,"  said  she,  "you  are  a 
fine  man.  I  have  not  seen  your  like  since  my 
father  died." 

And  so  it  seemed  not  impossible  that  all 
should  befall  as  Beriah  Pratt  had  predicted. 
Her  woman's  heart  was  stirring  to  the  love 
that  called  her ;  and  though  Rene  Rousseau 
should  talk  but  of  the  advantage  of  their 
union,  his  eyes  sent  warmer  message  which 
hers  were  beginning  to  answer.  But  Asenath's 
mind  must  ever  be  comrade  to  her  heart: 
(190) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


she  saw  not  only  the  worth  of  the  man  who 
wooed  her,  but  this  new  life  challenged  the 
adventurer  in  her  seafaring  blood,  and  the 
cool  reason  of  Yorkshire  forebears  nodded 
approval  of  her  capacity  to  steer  in  strange 
waters.  Late  in  August  she  saw  that  Rene 
Rousseau's  way  must  be  hers ;  by  early  Sep- 
tember he  had  persuaded  her  that  they  should 
be  returning  to  Havre. 

"  Next  summer,  in  June,  let  us  say,  you 
shall  see  Bradford  again."  And  quite  simply, 
as  should  a  maid  who  trusts  all  to  her  lover, 
Asenath  slipped  her  hand  into  his,  and  said 
—"I  will  go." 

Love  had  them  as  surely  as  any  moonstruck 
youth  in  his  train.  In  spite  of  the  reticence 
which  they  deemed  the  fitting  habit  of  their 
middle-age,  they  contemplated  the  rosy  pro- 
mises of  bliss ;  and  Rene  thanked  his  fortune 
and  the  high  gods  that  he  had  escaped  earlier 
lures  to  claim  this  queen  of  women  who,  by 
love's  miracle  of  youth  renewed,  was  blooming 
here  for  him. 


XVIII 

THEY  were  married  in  the  east  room  of 
Cap'n  Elkanah's  old  house,  and  were 
to  go  to  the  city  by  the  packet  sailing  on  the 
afternoon  tide.  Then,  after  a  final  consult- 
ation with  the  American  branch  of  Clark  & 
Rousseau,  they  should  cross  to  Havre  on  one  of 
the  Clark  ships.  In  June,  they  had  promised 
their  friends,  they  would  reopen  the  Bradford 
house  and  make  some  return  of  the  hospitality 
showered  upon  them.  For  these  marriage-bells 
had  startled  the  town  from  the  tragic  gloom 
induced  by  Polly's  going  into  a  fever  of  high 
(192) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


teas.  Mrs.  Sears,  the  Dillinghams,  the  Pratts, 
General  Paine,  Mrs.  James  Seabury  had  spread 
forth  their  best  for  the  feasting,  and  Cap'n 
Elkanah  had  insisted  that  the  marriage  should 
be  solemnized  at  his  house. 

"That  is  the  fitting  place,  Caroline,"  he 
had  told  his  daughter.  "  Asenath  should  close 
her  house  several  days  before  her  departure, 
and  if  there  were  no  more  reason  than  that 
you  and  she  had  been  yoke-fellows  in  all  good 
works,  we  should  be  the  ones  to  stand  spon- 
sors at  the  launching  of  her  joy.  And  where 
should  Rene*  Rousseau  be  married,  will  you 
tell  me,  but  in  the  house  where  the  first  Rene 
was  a  son  ?  " 

Caroline  had  needed  no  persuading;  even 
Azubah  approved,  and  was  prepared  to  show 
the  town  what  could  be  done  in  the  matter 
of  a  wedding  feast.  She  impressed  Mike,  a 
severely  scrubbed  but  not  unwilling  servitor, 
who  stoned  raisins  and  ran  errands  until  he 
vowed  that  weddings  were  harder  work  than 
spring  ploughing.  And  the  old  Snow  house, 
close-reefed  and  all  hatches  battened  down, 
(193) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


was  prepared  for  the  assaults  of  winter. 
Mike's  father  had  carted  seaweed  for  a  week 
to  bank  around  the  underpinning,  every  win- 
dow was  nailed,  every  blind  removed —  no 
possibility  of  slatting  canvas  there. 

"What  sun  gets  in  through  the  curtains 
'11  keep  things  sweet,"  said  Asenath,  wherein 
she  had  the  courage  of  her  common  sense :  for 
the  accepted  way  was  to  fetch  a  house  disused 
to  the  similitude  of  a  tomb. 

Then,  with  her  little  hidebound  trunks  filled 
with  wedding  finery,  she  went  to  Cap'n  Elka- 
nah's,  and  helped  Rachel  and  Caroline  deck 
the  house  with  a  bridal  array  of  trailing  clema- 
tis and  bright  autumn  flowers  and  leaves. 

"  A  girl  should  be  married  in  June,"  said 
she  to  Rachel,  as  they  wreathed  a  mantel  in 
rose-flushed  vines  on  her  wedding  morning. 
"  But  this  is  all  as  it  should  be  for  me." 

"You  do  brace  us  like  a  sunny  west  wind  in 
October,"  answered  Rachel,  ignoring  the  issue. 

"  Dear  girl,  it  has  begun,  but  I  am  not 
afraid,"  observed  Asenath,  with  an  unwonted 
note  of  sentiment. 

(194) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Nor  did  she  look  like  a  woman  to  fear  tran- 
sitions as  she  stood  before  James  Bristed  that 
September  morning  and  swore  fealty  to  the 
worthy  gentleman  beside  her.  Warm  sunlight 
flooded  the  gracious  old  room  where  the  fam- 
ily portraits  smiled  down  on  this  festival  of  an- 
other generation  than  theirs.  "  Marriage  and 
giving  in  marriage,  —  we  know,"  they  seemed 
to  say.  "  Grief  and  joy  and  the  wisdom  of 
the  wise,  with  heaven's  gate  at  the  last." 
Asenath  had  always  avoided  the  vagaries  of 
fashion,  and  to-day  she  was  dressed  in  flowing 
brown,  and  her  hair  was  smoothly  folded  back 
from  the  serious  face  whose  dark  eyes,  under 
their  level  brows,  were  set  so  far  apart  as  to 
give  an  exaggerated  expression  of  reflection. 

"When  'Senath  used  to  make  me  mad, 
those  eyes  of  hers  always  made  her  look  to 
me  like  a  squirrel,"  whispered  General  Paine 
to  his  neighbor.  "  But  to-day  she  's  certainly 
like  one  of  those  old  pictures  at  Brussels 
where  the  mother  of  the  Virgin  is  seeing  that 
all  goes  well." 

A  calm,  wise  woman  she  looked  to  them  all, 
(195) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


one  fashioned  for  the  just  supervision  of  the 
affairs  of  men;  and  they  smiled  upon  Rene 
Rousseau,  as  he  stood  there  in  his  pride  of 
the  natural  man  who  has  won  the  prize  of  his 
endeavor. 

The  wedding  feast  was  spread  in  the  flower- 
garden  room,  and  toasts  were  drunk  in  choice 
old  wines,  and  Asenath  cut  such  a  cake  as 
never  was  before.  Philander  Paine  and  Beriah 
Pratt  kept  the  ball  of  wit  a-rolling ;  Cap'n  El- 
kanah  made  the  speech  of  formal  felicitation, 
and  when  Rene*  Rousseau  rose  to  answer,  he 
looked  from  one  to  another  of  them,  last  of 
all  at  his  bride.  Then,  as  if  no  personal  word 
could  voice  his  gratitude,  he  raised  his  glass:  — 

"  I  drink  to  Bradford,"  said  he  slowly,  "to 
the  home  of  warm  hearts,  fair  women,  and 
brave  men.  The  town  that  welcomes  the  stran- 
ger and  gives  him  its  best.  May  we  guard  un- 
tarnished the  fame  of  her  past.  May  the  great 
God  teach  us  to  build  for  the  future." 

Silently  they  drank  the  toast.  And  then  the 
company,  after  a  hearty  godspeed  to  Asenath 
and  the  man  who  had  won  them  as  he  had  her, 
(196) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


began  to  break  up,  and  to  trickle  away,  by 
twos  and  tbrees,  through  the  lane  where  the 
richness  of  redundant  orchards  and  ripe  foliage 
perfumed  the  air. 

"Somehow  I  feel 's  if  I'd  been  to  a  com- 
munion service,"  said  Beriah.  "  I  guess  this  is 
the  sort  o'  meeting  that  makes  us  better  neigh- 
bors and  better  men." 

James  Bristed  had  read  the  service  and  pro- 
nounced the  solemn  marriage  benediction  in 
a  tone  that  carried  those  who  heard  up  to  the 
courts  of  heaven.  Then,  before  the  feasting 
began,  he  wished  them  well,  and  took  his  leave. 
On  his  way  home  he  stopped  to  see  Zellaphine 
and  Bela  Mayo,  who  had  had  no  heart  to  join 
the  gentle  festivity ;  but  now  they  ignored  the 
grief  which  was  the  metamorphosis  of  all  their 
personal  joy,  and  James  told  them  of  the  wed- 
ding, and  patiently  recalled  details  for  Zella- 
phine's  amusement.  Then  he  gave  them  the 
great  news  of  the  day  that  touched  them  more 
nearly :  for  Rene  Rousseau  had  told  him  that 
he  meant  to  make  a  kind  of  thank-offering 
to  Bradford,  which,  at  the  same  time,  should 
(197) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


be  a  memorial  to  his  kinswoman,  Polly  Mayo. 
He  guessed  that  the  present  library  building, 
which  had  been  procured  largely  through  her 
effort,  would  soon  be  inadequate,  and  he  pro- 
posed to  give  a  suitable  building  and  endow- 
ment for  a  Free  Memorial  Library;  ground 
should  be  broken  in  the  spring  on  a  site  di- 
rectly in  the  rear  of  the  small  building,  which 
later  should  be  removed  and  the  land  laid  out 
in  flower-gardens  and  lawns. 

That  afternoon  James  and  his  mother  were 
talking  together  in  her  sitting-room.  He  was 
standing  by  the  window,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  green  bowl  of  a  meadow  where  wil- 
lows bowed  to  a  reedy  brook,  and  beyond  was 
the  swell  of  an  upland  pasture  bounded  by 
the  sharp  line  of  an  old  rail  fence  and  three 
sentinel  pines  silhouetted  against  the  sky.  A 
flaming  sunset  had  resolved  the  homely  pic- 
ture into  a  mystery  of  purple  and  gold,  and, 
unconsciously,  his  sore  heart  was  soothed  by 
what  he  looked  upon.  They  had  been  speaking 
of  Polly,  and  her  charm,  and  the  ache  of  miss- 
ing her,  and  then  the  talk  had  drifted  to  Rene 
(198) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


Rousseau  and  his  library,  and  so  on  to  the 
marriage  that  day. 

"  Monsieur  Rousseau  is  a  rare  man/'  said 
James.  "  Perhaps  he  '11  rouse  us  to  the  truth 
that  new  things  may  come  even  as  the  old  go, 
and  that  we  move  on  according  to  a  plan  that 
must  be  good." 

"  Still,  it  seems  to  me  that  Miss  Asenath  is 
very  brave,"  said  Mrs.  Bristed,  with  a  note  of 
admiration  as  for  one  who  had  dared  the  ul- 
timate adventure. 

"  Yes.  But  perhaps  it  does  n't  call  for  spec- 
ial bravery  to  marry  the  man  she  loves.  At  any 
rate,  she  had  more  romance  at  the  back  of  that 
cool  head  of  hers  than  any  of  us  suspected." 

"It  was  the  heart  that  proved  her  master, 
James,  as  well  as  of  many  a  more  likely  wo- 
man." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

James  sighed,  and  absently  tapped  the  pane 
as  if  beckoning  to  melodies  he  was  to  hear  no 
more. 


PUBLIC 
COVINA 


XIX 

IT  had  been  a  strange  autumn,  —  a  suc- 
cession of  warm  wet  weeks  broken  by  an 
infrequent  crystal  day,  or,  again,  melting  to 
midsummer  languor.  More  than  ever  had  it 
seemed  the  season  of  rest  after  accomplish- 
ment, of  waiting  for  an  end  that  might  be 
only  the  beginning  of  new  life.  Most  often 
the  day  was  shrouded  in  mist,  which  the  war- 
riors of  the  night  drove  from  the  heavens; 
and  never  before,  it  seemed  to  Rachel,  had 
these  blazing  guardians  of  the  solitudes  of 
space  laid  their  course  so  near  the  earth. 
(200) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


She  could  not  sleep  those  nights :  it  was  as 
if  great  deeds  were  abroad,  great  commotions 
of  eternity  which  it  would  be  well  for  mortals 
to  witness;  and  that  dread  hour  before  the 
dawn,  when  the  old  house  was  like  a  watch 
tower  looking  out  upon  celestial  fields,  always 
found  her  stirring. 

"  It  is  so  the  old  peoples  saw  them,"  she  as- 
sured herself  one  night,  when  the  moon  had 
banished  timid  followers  and  was  swinging 
along  through  the  farther  reaches  of  space 
with  Orion,  the  huntsman,  and  at  her  shoul- 
der floated  a  single  star,  gleaming  insignia  of 
hope.  In  the  east  burned  a  constant  gentle 
planet  of  only  lesser  magnitude  than  mighty 
Artemis,  and  there  some  unknown  constella- 
tion flung  its  sparkling  folds  to  the  horizon. 
"  It  is  so  they  saw  the  high  gods  at  play," 
she  thought  again,  and  may  have  envied  that 
simpler  imagery.  Yet  gradually,  in  these 
weeks,  her  whole  tranquil  being  was  awaking 
as  if  roused  by  the  thrill  of  a  prelusive  joy. 
She  had  muddled  the  meaning  of  things,  that 
she  knew.  She  had  mistaken  lesser  emotions 
(201) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


for  greater.  But  here  was  heaven  unabashed, 
and  mother  earth,  with  immemorial  humor- 
ous disregard,  moving  down  her  appointed 
road. 

"I've  been  out  of  step  somehow,"  thought 
the  girl  again  and  again.  "  I  Jve  been  bobbing 
along  out  of  the  beat.  Gran'ther  and  mother 
have  pretty  nearly  spoiled  me  by  their  doting." 
Wherein  she  was  not  wiser  or  more  foolish 
than  many  another  young  creature  who  has 
been  pushed  to  gravity  beyond  the  just  term 
of  years,  and  one  morning  wakes  to  the  sim- 
plicity of  youth. 

It  had  become  entirely  evident  that  the  gen- 
eral plan  included  no  deflection  for  the  saving 
of  her  cousin  Scotto ;  and  her  whimsical  ap- 
preciation of  that  truth  was  opening  for  her 
a  new  window  on  essential  values.  In  Novem- 
ber another  letter  had  come  from  him,  wherein, 
with  his  old  impulse  to  draw  from  the  well  of 
her  sympathy,  he  had  told  her  of  his  love  for 
the  soft  brown  belle  of  his  island  kingdom, 
and,  moreover,  that  a  visiting  missionary  had 
made  them  man  and  wife. 
(202) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  I  've  got  to  be  a  man  now,  Ray,  and  stay 
put,"  ran  the  ingenuous  screed.  "  I  '11  dig  up 
cocoanut  and  shell  enough  for  a  fortune,  I  'm 
not  afraid  of  that.  And  this  beautiful  little 
creature  thinks  I  'm  a  fit  substitute  for  her 
cast-off  god,  so  here  goes  for  straight  sailing 
and  a  clean  bill  of  goods.  These  '  savages ' 
are  whiter  men  than  most  of  us,  and  Herman 
Melville  did  n't  paint  'em  a  bit  too  good.  And 
I  don't  mean  my  little  state  shall  be  ruined  by 
vicious  whites  like  so  many  of  these  islands. 
Mr.  Missionary  is  coming  back  with  his  family, 
to  teach  us  all  what 's  good  out  there  in  the 
old  country.  He 's  the  right  sort,  with  a  hard 
head  and  a  warm  heart,  —  but  there  immigra- 
tion stops.  We  and  Kooroo  and  Tooboi  and 
Mahinee  will  run  this  ship,  and  if  you  think 
from  their  names  my  officers  are  any  fools, 
you  're  the  one  that 's  mistaken.  And  my  little 
Loo  is  like  a  fairy  cut  in  ivory.  You  see,  dear 
Ray,  I  'm  under  bonds  to  be  good,  and,  some- 
how, thank  God,  I  don't  want  to  shake  off  the 
bonds.  Try  to  make  it  all  right  with  gran'ther. 
I  'm  writing  father.  I  think  the  business  end 
(203) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


of  it  will  put  me  right  with  him.  We  've  got 
a  fortune  here." 

So  there  was  something  still  that  she  could 
do  for  Scotto ;  and  by  a  not  too  fervid  reason- 
ing as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  present  course, 
but,  rather,  a  calm  assumption  that  it  was  the 
natural  path  for  him  to  take,  she  made  his 
peace  with  Crete  Clark  and  Cap'n  Elkanah. 
Perhaps  her  own  blooming  content  with 
things  as  they  were  was  her  strongest  argu- 
ment with  her  grandfather. 

The  warm  autumn  was  followed  by  cruel, 
gripping  cold,  with  little  snow  to  break  the 
rigor  of  the  frost.  Bradford  had  never  known 
so  quiet  a  winter,  and  every  one  sat  by  the 
fireside  and  waited  for  the  spring.  But  James 
Bristed  found  misery  to  relieve,  and  Rachel 
became  his  lady  almoner  in  many  a  family 
where  children  were  gaunt  with  hunger  and 
cold.  He  had  grown  to  be  a  silent  man  in 
this  year,  yet  one  who  was  sensitive  to  the  joy 
and  sorrow  about  him  and  whose  handclasp 
was  worth  more  than  many  sermons.  A  man 
of  strength,  his  people  named  him,  as  he 
(204) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


moved  among  them  with  a  keener  vision  for 
their  needs  because  of  his  personal  loss.  And 
more  than  ever,  on  a  Sunday,  did  he  pass  by 
the  "wingy  mysteries"  of  doctrine  to  assure 
them  in  all  simplicity  of  an  unfailing  Love. 

"  Seems  's  if  he  'd  got  to  le'  go  that  sheet 
anchor  of  faith  in  the  love  of  God  to  keep  him 
stiddy,"  commented  Cap'n  Beriah. 

"  You  better  say  he 's  feeling  his  way  along 
a  dangerous  coast,  and  there's  a  light  he's 
sure  of,"  said  James  Seabury.  "That  man 
tests  what  he  preaches.  And  where  he  sails, 
I '11  follow." 

In  the  early  days  of  his  grief,  more  fre- 
quently than  ever,  he  had  stolen  away  across 
the  fields  to  the  secret  solace  of  his  little 
lake,  where  he  could  float  or  read  or  fish; 
but  Izaak  Walton  was  less  likely  to  be  his 
companion  now  than  some  poet  or  the  meas- 
ure of  his  own  seeking  thought.  The  reason 
and  necessity  for  such  loss :  he  paced  the 
weary  round  that  many  wiser  men  than  he 
had  walked,  and  found  no  relief  but  in  the 
enfolding  heavens,  —  far  reaches  of  hope,  the 
(205) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


warmth  of  love,  somewhere  up  there  the  rea- 
son lay.  And  such  comfort  as  he  found  he 
gave  his  people,  who  never  forgot  the  mes- 
sages he  brought  them  out  of  the  sea  of  his 
trouble.  He  sailed  there  by  chart  and  com- 
pass, they  knew,  and  for  them  as  for  him  the 
needle  pointed  steadily  to  the  north. 

Bela  Mayo  and  Zellaphine  loved  him  as  a 
son.  They  had  aged  years  in  these  few  months. 
It  was  as  if  they  had  grown  gray  footing  the 
long  road  together,  and  there  was  no  talk  now 
of  Bela's  returning  to  the  sea. 

"I  've  served  my  term  at  it,"  said  he,  when 
his  mates  questioned  as  to  sailing-days,  "  'nd 
I'm  going  to  stay  home  now  an'  look  after 
Zellie.  She  needs  me  more  'n  my  money." 

Which  appeared  no  more  than  truth,  for  a 
gentle  and  dependent  Zellaphine  had  emerged 
from  the  ashes  of  her  grief.  More  than  ever 
her  heart  was  eager  to  serve,  —  no  selfish  sor- 
row could  choke  that  divine  instinct  for  min- 
istering,— but  the  sharp  comment  of  her 
mind  was  turned  into  new  paths ;  and  in  her 
gratitude  to  the  neighborly  hearts  that  had 
(206) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


mourned  with  her,  she  set  herself  aside  to 
think  of  them.  But  always  Bela  came  first,  as 
she  with  him. 

"  Bela,  he 's  going  to  stay  home  now,"  she 
told  Cap'n  Elkanah,  who  had  called  one  after- 
noon to  bring  her  some  especially  fine  winter 
apples.  "  A  better  husband  and  provider  never 
sailed  the  sea ;  and  it 's  my  turn  to  save  'n* 
manage  a  mite,  so's  we  can  spend  the  rest 
of  our  days  together.  We  got  to  count  our 
mercies  now." 

Her  Hp  trembled,  although,  as  General 
Paine  had  said,  "Zellaphine  was  no  moaner 
when  it  come  to  real  trouble." 

So  it  was  not  all  loss  for  her  and  Bela.  And 
they  looked  to  James  Bristed  as  a  beloved  son 
to  lean  upon  in  their  vigorous  middle-age,  and 
afterward  when  the  years  of  trembling  came. 

And  for  them  all  —  Rachel  and  James 
Bristed,  the  Mayos,  and  the  wider  circle  which 
bound  the  centre  of  their  personal  adventure 
—  the  time  lay  fallow,  and  quietude  brooded 
over  the  day. 

One  bitter  afternoon  James  and  Rachel  were 
(207) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


walking  down  the  winding  road  that  led  to 
the  beach.  They  had  been  much  together 
through  the  past  months,  drawn  into  compan- 
ionship by  their  young  loneliness  and  the  hard 
new  problems  it  had  been  given  them  to  un- 
ravel. The  villagers  had  begun  to  gossip  a 
little  and  to  say  that  John  Dillingham  best 
not  be  sailing  the  seas  too  long;  but  they 
went  their  way,  and  took  what  pleasure  they 
could  from  the  sympathy  each  held  for  the 
other.  No  one  could  enter  into  his  sorrow  for 
Polly  as  could  Rachel,  for  no  one  had  known 
so  well  the  rich  wholesome  soil  of  the  nature 
from  which  sprang  all  that  sweet  wilf ulness, 
and  he  could  talk  freely  to  her  of  his  loss  and 
learn  new  beauties  of  his  love.  As  for  Rachel, 
she  made  no  confidences ;  but  in  her  quiescent 
state,  she  absorbed  many  useful  truths  from 
his  sane  man's  nature. 

They  were  going  to  the  "  shore"  to  see  what 
havoc  had  been  wrought  by  the  floating  ice 
of  the  bay,  and  then  meant  to  walk  along  the 
beach  to  Cap'n  Elkanah's  salt-works,  and  home 
by  the  field  path.  It  was  rough  footing,  for 
(208) 


HIGH  BKADFORD 


the  road  had  been  frozen  into  ridges  and  hol- 
lows, and  crackling  ice  skimmed  the  deep  im- 
pressions of  some  plodder's  hoofs.  In  winter, 
after  the  packets  ceased  running,  the  way  was 
used  chiefly  by  some  belated  householder  who 
had  delayed  gathering  the  black  seaweed  to 
bank  around  cellar  and  outhouses  until  the 
cold  was  upon  him ;  and  the  scene  before  them 
was  as  solitary  as  a  Scotch  moor  that  rises  and 
falls  to  the  dunes  of  a  northern  sea.  As  they 
approached  the  beach,  a  sharp  north  wind  cut 
their  faces,  and  seemed  to  blow  free  the  scar- 
let banners  of  the  sunset.  Unconsciously  Ra- 
chel's mind  flashed  back  to  that  evening  when 
she  and  her  grandfather  had  stood  on  the 
cliff,  and  he  had  told  her  again  of  the  doomed 
Aphrodite. 

"  I  was  a  child  dreading  to  be  hurt,"  she 
thought.  "  And  here  I  am  only  glad  and  free. 
There  was  no  heartbreak  in  it,  after  all." 

Then,  in  quick  commiseration,  she  turned 
to  the  man  beside  her.   But  he  was  looking 
out  steadfastly  over  the  churning  steely  waves 
that  swept  the  ice  cakes  up  and  down. 
(209) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  One  part  of  it  is  finished  for  me,  Rachel," 
he  said.  "  But  here  's  the  earth  — and  heaven 
up  there." 

Then  they  walked  down  to  high-water  line, 
where  the  bay  had  cast  up  its  outermost  ram- 
part of  gleaming  ice  that  burned  with  myste- 
rious reflections  of  the  sullen  sky.  But  no 
harm  had  been  done :  and  although  the  angry 
sea  had  thrown  stray  ice  blocks  far  up  on  the 
beach,  the  breakwater  held,  and  the  tall  frame- 
work where  the  packets  flew  their  signals. 

When  the  afterglow  mounted  to  the  zenith 
in  a  last  defiance  to  the  sombre  night  that  crept 
up  from  the  east,  they  set  their  faces  home- 
ward, and  walked  over  the  shelving  white 
sands  to  the  cliff  where  the  salt-works  stood  out 
against  the  ruddy  sky.  And  as  they  walked, 
Rachel's  heart  beat  high  with  hope  and  with 
thankfulness  to  the  Wisdom  that  holds  firm 
the  established  scheme. 

"  James,"  said  she,  "  I  almost  want  to  be  old. 
We  '11  be  looking  back  then  and  perhaps  we 
can  see  something  of  the  plan." 


XX 

WHEN  the  winter  days  went  melting 
into  spring,  Madam  Desire  Dilling- 
ham  fell  ill.  Both  she  and  Cap'n  Elkanah  had 
been  ailing  that  winter,  and  the  long-con- 
tinued cold  had  sapped  the  strength  of  their 
vigorous  old  bodies :  for  the  atmosphere  in 
any  room,  beyond  a  restricted  circle  about  the 
fireplace  or  Franklin  stove,  congealed  the 
breath,  and  sunlight,  looking  wanly  in  at 
the  windows,  had  given  little  comfort  to  poor 
humans.  In  April  she  had  taken  to  her  bed, 
and  Rachel  went  over  to  help  Mercy  Billing- 
(211) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


ham  with  the  nursing.  Not  that  the  burden 
was  heavy  j  but,  as  Edward  had  gone  to  the 
city  on  business,  Mercy  pleaded  loneliness, 
and  Cap'n  Elkanah,  in  any  event,  was  glad  to 
lend  his  "  little  None-such  "  as  a  special  gift 
to  his  friend  Desire.  It  had  been  usual  for 
the  girl,  in  other  winters,  to  pay  short  visits  at 
the  house  across  the  fields :  for  the  two  fam- 
ilies were  so  closely  knit  together  by  associa- 
tion and  the  ties  of  blood  —  Elkanah's  oldest 
son  had  married  a  Dillingham — that  the  child- 
ren were  indiscriminately  familiar  with  "  Dilly 
house"  and  "lane  house."  And  Rachel,  it  may 
be,  felt  as  much  filial  affection  for  Mercy  as 
for  her  own  dependent,  absent-minded  mother 
whom  she  must  always  protect  and  supervise. 
Desire  lay  tranquilly  in  the  east  bedroom, 
and  said  she  was  waiting  to  be  sure  that 
spring  had  come,  and  then  she  should  go  out 
into  the  garden.  A  little  color  crept  into  her 
soft  cheek  when  she  heard  the  first  crows,  and 
soon  there  was  a  chirping  and  twittering 
about  the  old  house  that  brought  her  vera- 
cious messages  of  a  mounting  sun. 
(212) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  I'll  wait  for  the  first  flower,"  she  told  Eachel 
and  Mercy.  "  Then  you  shall  see." 

In  the  mean  time  the  three  women  kept 
cosily  within  doors,  and  of  a  late  afternoon 
Mercy  had  Molly  Connelly  bring  the  supper- 
tray  into  the  west  room  and  they  drank  their 
tea  together  there.  It  was  a  pleasanter  thing 
to  watch  the  spring  approach  from  the  house 
than  to  go  forth  and  meet  it :  for  as  the  frost 
broke,  roads  were  metamorphosed  into  quag- 
mires, and  the  air  nipped  shrewdly,  although 
the  sun  was  lord  of  all. 

"I  'd  rather  do  my  outdoorsing  in  the  dead 
of  winter,"  said  Mercy,  "  and  then  crawl  into 
my  hole  until  frost  and  rain  and  sun  get  their 
troubles  settled  and  there  's  firm  ground  un- 
derfoot. It 's  all  very  well  to  talk  of  spring; 
but  that  begins  about  the  middle  of  May,  and 
is  off  with  the  first  June  rose.  We  don't  have 
spring :  it  's  winter,  mudtime,  summer,  and 
harvest." 

"  Forget  your  feet,  and  use  your  eyes  and 
ears,  Mercy,"  said  Madam  Desire,  with  some 
tartness,  from  her  bed,  "  and  your  nose.  Is 
(213) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


there  any  smell  in  the  world  like  that  moist 
springy  smell  before  the  first  blossom  comes, 
and  there 's  a  difference  in  the  air  and  the  sun 
and  the  look  of  the  sky,  and  the  birds  know 
it  all?" 

"I  grant  you  the  'moist,'  mother,"  said 
Mercy.  "  But  I  '11  wait  for  lilacs  and  roses." 

"  I  have  n't  even  been  Mayflowering  this 
year,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Dear  child,  you  miss  her  all  the  time," 
said  Desire  softly. 

Rachel's  eyes  filled.  So  few  had  appreciated 
her  loneliness  in  their  greater  regard  for  the 
grief  of  Bela  and  Zellaphine  and  James  Bris- 
ted's  loss.  They  had  thought  more  of  her  in 
her  altered  relation  to  Scotto,  or  of  her  possi- 
ble lovers.  But  it  was  true  that  as  the  sea- 
sons swung  around,  she  missed  Polly  more 
and  more.  The  two,  unlike  as  they  were,  had 
been  inseparable,  and  not  a  day  passed  that 
one  did  not  have  some  message  for  the  other, 
some  plan  where  both  must  have  part,  some 
pleasure  or  expedition  shared.  So  much  had 
they  been  together  that  neither  had  known 
(214) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


the  need  for  another  friend ;  and  Rachel,  with- 
out Polly,  or  Scotto,  or  John,  would  have  felt 
much  like  some  derelict  little  craft,  battered 
before  her  time,  and  flung  on  an  isolated 
shore  far  from  the  haunts  of  youth,  had  it  not 
been  for  James  Bristed's  good  comradeship. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Desire,  why  do  I  feel  so  old  ?  " 
she  asked  one  day.  "  What  is  the  trouble  ?  I 
am  not  really  sad  about  Polly.  She  seems  safe; 
and  she  might  have  hurt  those  filmy  wings  of 
hers  if  she  M  lived.  What  is  it?  I  'm  not  sad." 

"Because,  dear,  the  first  change  has  come. 
We  are  children  until  then,  whether  it  comes 
when  we  are  ten  or  when  we  are  forty.  When 
death  or  sharp  trouble  first  looks  at  us,  then 
childhood  goes.  Your  world  was  the  same 
world  you  always  knew  until  this  year.  And 
then  there  was  Polly,  and  James  Bristed,  — 
and  Scotto,"  she  added  hesitatingly. 

The  girl  knelt  by  the  bed  and  laid  her  hand 
on  Desire's. 

"  Dear  gammer,"  said  she,  in  a  quick  low 
tone,  "  I  'm  happy  about  Scotto.  There 's  no 
trouble  there." 

(215) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  No,  dear.  Still,  there  are  two  gone  out  of 
the  old  life." 

"  Yes.  He  '11  come  back  no  more  than  she." 

"  But  they  are  both  safe." 

"  Yes,  both  are  safe." 

In  the  morning  Cap'n  Elkanah  came  over 
with  his  first  nosegay  of  the  season.  Spring 
after  spring  he  had  always  brought  his  first 
posy  to  Desire.  She  was  sitting  by  the  hearth 
in  her  high-backed  rocker,  her  feet  snugly  be- 
stowed on  a  worked  cross-stitch  cricket. 

"  You  see,  Elkanah,  I  expected  you,"  she 
said  brightly.  "  I  told  them  I  should  get  up 
when  the  first  flower  came." 

Rachel  left  them  together  and  went  to  help 
Mercy  about  some  household  task  in  the 
middle  room. 

"  I  hope  neither  of  them  will  have  the 
chance  to  miss  the  other,  Aunt  Mercy.  How 
would  gran'ther  ever  get  along  without 
her?" 

"  I  don't  believe  the  time  would  be  long," 
said  Mercy.  "  And  somehow  I  feel  that  they 
both  think  they  have  got  their  first  summons 
(216) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


this  winter.  There  has  been  a  change.  But 
you  see  they're  not  afraid,  so  we  needn't 
be." 

"  No,  not  afraid ;  but  I  want  them  to  have 
plain  sailing  now." 

"Mother  '11  rally  with  the  warm  days,  you  '11 
see,  and  Uncle  Elkanah  '11  go  about  his  gar- 
den ;  but  neither  of  them  will  be  quite  as 
vigorous  as  before.  They  won't  speak  of 
going ;  but  one  day,  with  a  smile,  they  '11  be 
gone." 

"  How  unbelievable  it  is,  Aunt  Mercy,  that 
it  stands  there  waiting  for  us.  I  hope  we  '11 
all  go  with  a  smile."  Her  heart  stopped  a 
beat,  as  she  remembered  the  smile  on  Polly's 
fair  dead  face.  "  So  it's  not  age,"  she  thought, 
"  that  makes  them  glad  to  go." 

"I  wish  we  could  hear  from  John,"  said 
Mercy.  "  No  news  is  good  news,  and  I  hope 
that  means  he's  coming  home  as  soon  as  a 
letter  could  get  here.  He  did  n't  stop  long  at 
Singapore,  and  very  likely  Scot  had  a  cargo 
waiting  for  him.  Those  boys  will  want  to  make 
quick  voyages  between  ports,  for  John's  as 
(217) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


eager  as  Scot  to  have  that  island  a  success.  I 
believe  he  'd  take  hold  and  run  it  himself  if 
Scot  gave  it  up." 

"  But  Scot  won't,"  said  Rachel. 

"  He  seems  to  like  it  better  than  anything 
he 's  taken  hold  of  yet,"  assented  Mercy. 

"  Perhaps  poor  Scot 's  seemed  to  be  a  drifter 
because  he  had  n't  drifted  into  his  proper 
berth.  But  he  '11  stay  at  Monte  Verde,  you  '11 
see.  Even  the  climate  will  keep  him,  for  it 
will  tone  down  his  jumpy  nerves.  And  then 
we  must  n't  forget  the  little  bride,"  added 
Rachel.  "  She  could  n't  live  anywhere  else, 
and  he  's  very  much  in  love." 

"  For  now,  yes." 

It  seemed  almost  as  if  Mercy  were  probing 
the  girl's  mind  for  what  she  could  discover 
there. 

"  No,  for  more  than  now.  He  has  needed 
some  one  to  depend  upon  him  for  everything, 
and  that 's  what  she  must  do." 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say  he  '11  never  see 
white  people  again  for  the  rest  of  his  life?" 

"  There  's  the  missionary  and  the  traders, 
(218)  ' 


HIGH   BRADFORD 


and  if  the  place  succeeds,  he  can't  keep  them 
out.  Probably  he  won't  want  to  try  when  the 
right  kind  of  people  come.  He  can  regulate 
all  that  later." 

"  You  certainly  have  thought  it  all  out,  Ra- 
chel." 

"  Of  course  I  have.  And  then,  you  know, 
Aunt  Mercy,  I  have  always  believed  in  Scot." 

Mercy  gave  her  a  quick  look,  whether  of 
question  or  suspicion,  and  took  a  tray  of  cook- 
ing-dishes to  the  outer  kitchen. 

On  a  June  afternoon  Rachel  was  in  the  pine 
wood  overlooking  Wehasset  Pond  where  the 
boys  had  built  a  rustic  bench  for  her  and  Polly 
in  their  old  pirate  days.  This  marked  the  out- 
ermost limit  of  feminine  latitude ;  beyond  lay 
the  sacred  precincts  of  man's  domain.  But  when 
a  great  battle  was  on,  say,  between  the  Pirate 
Bride  and  Paul  Jones's  ships,  they  not  infre- 
quently had  viewed  the  scene  from  this  van- 
tage-ground and  cheered  the  victor  with  shrill 
squeaks  of  triumph.  To-day  Rachel  was  in  a 
mood  of  content,  —  with  life,  with  the  bright 
(219) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


world  around  her  and  her  appointed  place 
therein  ;  and  her  tranquillity  was  undisturbed 
by  any  smallest  shaft  of  introspection.  She  sat 
there  on  the  pirate  bench,  and  looked  out  over 
the  pond,  and  the  green  hill  with  its  grazing 
cattle,  and  across  the  bay  to  the  sand  cliffs  of 
the  opposite  shore ;  she  breathed  in  the  salt  air 
that  was  enriched  by  all  the  perfumes  of  June, 
and  thought  not  at  all.  One  hand,  thrown 
over  the  back  of  the  seat,  idly  swung  her 
leghorn  hat  to  and  fro  by  its  strings,  an  act 
more  befitting  Polly  than  the  old  careful 
Rachel. 

Suddenly  she  had  a  sensation,  too  sharp  to 
question,  of  some  new  presence,  and,  hardly 
turning,  she  glanced  back  along  the  field  path. 
A  tall  figure  was  swinging  out  from  behind 
the  farm  buildings. 

"  Oh,  Rachel !  "  he  called,  as  he  came. 

She  did  not  move ;  she  could  not  have  done 
so.  It  was  as  if  every  drop  of  blood  had  flown 
back  to  her  heart,  and  she  had  time  to  wonder 
if  she  were  faint,  and  why  her  wrists  felt  so 
limp.  She  still  held  the  hat  by  its  strings,  but 
(220) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


she  was  as  motionless  as  a  wild  creature  in  its 
covert. 

"  Oh,  Ray,"  he  called  again. 

She  did  not  make  a  sound  as  he  passed  the 
opening  to  her  piney  path.  But,  as  if  sum- 
moned, he  returned,  and  came  striding  toward 
her :  and  she  looked  at  him,  mute  and  still. 

"Here  you  are,  child.  Why  didn't  you 
speak  ?  " 

"  John,"  she  whispered. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  You  look  frightened 
to  death." 

Then  she  recovered  herself  with  a  little 
laugh,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  him  across 
the  bench. 

"Lady  mine!"  said  he,  and  bent  low  to 
kiss  it. 

"Where  you  from?" 

"Singapore,  Monte  Verde,  Boston,  —  sail, 
steam,  stage." 

"  You  did  n't  let  us  know." 

"No  time.  I  travelled  faster  than  a  letter. 
I  had  business  here." 

"  Business  ?  " 

(221) 


HIGH  BRADFORD 


"  Yes,  madam." 

"Oh!" 

He  sat  down  beside  her  and  took  her  other 
hand,  hat  strings  and  all,  without  relinquish- 
ing his  grasp  on  the  first. 

"Well,  Ray?" 

"Well?" 

"  I  've  come." 

"Yes." 

"  For  you." 

"  For  me  ?  " 

"For  whom  else?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Ray  !  "  He  shook  her  lightly  by  the  shoul- 
ders. Then  his  arms  slipped  to  her  waist. 

"  John,"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  love." 

"John,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you." 
But  there  she  stopped.  Then  it  came  with  a 
rush.  "  I  Ve  been  a  goose.  I  thought  everything 
depended  upon  me.  And  it  does  n't.  You  '11 
have  to  be  patient.  And  teach  me  things." 

He   laughed,  and  lifted  her  face  by   its 
pointed  chin  to  look  into  the  hazel  eyes. 
(222) 


HIGH   BRADFORD 


"  Sweetheart,  you  '11  teach  me  what  heaven 


is." 


The  boy's  face  flushed  as  unsuspected 
poetry  came  welling  up  from  his  honest  heart ; 
and  his  blue  eyes  burned  with  some  picture  they 
saw  of  green  fields  and  the  far  reaches  of  the 
ocean,  and  love  shining  there.  He  threw  his 
head  back  and  laughed  again  for  the  joy  of 
life,  the  joy  of  mastery  and  obedience,  the  joy 
of  free  clean  spaces  and  of  work. 

Then  he  took  her  hands,  and  said  softly : 
"  Soon  you  and  I  '11  be  together  in  the  little 
old  house;  and  by  autumn,  maybe,  we'll  go 
sailing  away  to  the  ends  of  the  earth." 

For  chief  in  the  scheme  of  living  was  their 
friend  the  sea. 


THE    END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


COVIN/s 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000114376     7 


